I stack papers on papers, mountainous high,
I fill up our shelves with books and errata,
I put DVDs in the wrong boxes, I don’t even try,
As far as I’m concerned, it just doesn’t matter.
I drink milk and juice right out of the carton,
I refuse the close the bread back up with a tie,
Sometimes I burp and don’t ask for pardon
But “ribbit” like a frog – I’m a humorous guy.
I snore when I sleep, like a huge semi truck,
And I usually leave the toilet seat up.
Me, make the bed? You’re just out of luck.
I’d rather sit in a chair and put my feet up.
I’m impossible to live with, or so I’ve been told;
In past relationships that’s just how it was.
I’ve been told I’m too ugly, too fat, too stupid, too old,
And no one can love me. But somehow she does.
Yes, somehow this miracle of a woman, my wife,
Manages to find something in me worthy of love.
How fortunate I am that she came into my life!
And somehow she loves me – that’s all that I’m sure of.
This all started a few days ago, when I burped and decided to turn it into a frog’s croak: RIBBIT. As I did it, which I thought was funny, I thought about my wife, who was also in the room, and I mused: How can she love a big goofball like me? I don’t know, but somehow she does. And the idea was born. I’ve been thinking over the past couple days about things I do (and some of these are made up) that could be considered unlovable.