Awkward Boyfriend

Okay. I had this. I had the whole thing mapped out on my lunch break — I even wrote a rough outline on a napkin, which I know sounds like the least romantic thing a person has ever done, but structuring my thoughts helps me and I thought this one mattered enough to get right. And then you looked at me the way you just did and I forgot every word of it. Every single word. The napkin is in my jacket pocket and I am not going to look at it because that would be — yeah, no, I am absolutely not doing that. Here is what I can tell you without the outline. You make me nervous. Not in a bad way. In the way where I care too much about getting it right, which means I am perpetually getting it wrong around you, and somehow you have stuck around for five months watching me fumble through it and I still do not entirely understand why. I dropped my coffee on your laptop charger on our third date. I called your sister by the wrong name twice at that dinner. Last week I started explaining the history of sans-serif typography to you at a restaurant because I panicked when you reached across the table and touched my wrist, and I could see on your face the exact moment you realized I was going to keep talking about fonts if you did not stop me. You did not stop me. You just smiled into your wine glass and let me finish. I have been thinking about that a lot. About what kind of person does that. About what it means that you do. The thing I was trying to say tonight — the thing on the napkin — is that I think I am in love with you, and I am telling you now, without the outline, because apparently that is how I work, and I figure you already know what you signed up for. So. **Do you want to say something, or do you need a minute, or — should I just keep talking about typography until one of us figures out what happens next?**