Some girls like flowers.

Some love candy.

Some are damn high maintenace and demand all sorts of shit.

Me?

I like words.

Let me swim in your vocabulary. Stun me with your sentence structure. Spell me into stunned silence.

Spoil me with diction.

Nothing turns me off more than horrible grammar. The prettiest boy turns ugly in a second when he tells me he “seen something” Shudder.

I’m a smart boy snob and I exploit them with adjectives- they sure as hell better be able to keep up.

There’s only one thing that tortures me more than a wordy boy…

One that can cook.

We all have daddy issues, and my Daddy can out-cook two thirds of the population.

If you use your can opener more than your knives? You’re not the one.

If you can cook me into submission AND talk to me about it intelligently?

Buckle your seat belt and take the day off because I will not be outdone and I’m a hurricane when inspired.

Mr. Professional has become quite the Mr. Captivating.

He talks foodie to me. He’s making my favorite thing for dinner while continuing to fight the good fight playing word games with me. He hasn’t beat me yet… but he might.

Flowers die… verbs are forever… and I can buy my own perfume… but I can’t make pierogies.

He can. He will…AND he’ll teach me.

Oy vey…. I’m in over my head…. while enjoying every delicious descriptive moment.