This is not going to be a happy post.  Ignore it, and move on.
I don’t understand how the simplest things elude him at times.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t cheer you up,” he says. I know he means it. He wants me to be happy, just as I want him to be happy.
So I do things that I think will make him happy. Like my Sinful Sunday post. That was all for him. I knew he would read it and it would make him smile. Like posting about my new shoes, like getting my new shoes, like wearing them to bed and posting about that. I know the things that make him smile, and I do them.
How can he not know what makes me smile?
“I’m a 91 Jeep,” he says.
It doesn’t take a Corvette to make me smile, to cheer me up. I’m actually pretty fucking easy. (As I think I’ve mentioned numerous times.) A word, a command, a bit of control expressed. That’s all it takes.
Is that too much to ask?
Yeah, I’m a big girl.  But no, it’s not a “good deal.”

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