my friend sent this to me, and said it should be an addendum to my post regarding 'dating tips for boys'.
and i agree. because i think it's sweet. and though obviously variable from woman to woman.... i think it's points out the important aspects of what we should all believe in - in love.
we should believe in laughing with the person who we love. we should believe in laughing frequently with the person who we love. we should all believe in dancing, playing, talking, and singing with the person who we love. we should all believe in listening to the person who we love. and we should - above all else - absolutely believe in loving the person who we love.
i haven't posted the full entry... so check it out here, to read them all.
Question: How do I know if a girl loves me or not? —Ajay
and i agree. because i think it's sweet. and though obviously variable from woman to woman.... i think it's points out the important aspects of what we should all believe in - in love.
we should believe in laughing with the person who we love. we should believe in laughing frequently with the person who we love. we should all believe in dancing, playing, talking, and singing with the person who we love. we should all believe in listening to the person who we love. and we should - above all else - absolutely believe in loving the person who we love.
i haven't posted the full entry... so check it out here, to read them all.
Question: How do I know if a girl loves me or not? —Ajay
Answer: If she knows what song is coming next on the mix CD you made her: She loves you.
If she hides your shoes when you’re late for work, and from a supine position on the couch plays “Hot/Cold,” and, finally, after 15 minutes of you ignoring her screaming, “Boiling! Burning up!” every time you stalk angrily by the dishwasher, gets up, flips it open to reveal the shoes, sitting there among the plates, and hands them over with a kiss and a giggle, and then laughs some more as you tie your laces in a silent rage: She loves you.
If she calls you at work that day to ask, “How are those shoes working out?”: She loves you.
If when you get home you try to hide something of hers, she finds it immediately, shaking her head, and when she pulls whatever it is—oven mitts or stretch pants—from behind the couch, she looks at you and without any attempt to hide her pity, says, “I love you”: She loves you.
If she dances with your friends: She loves you.
If she says, “I love you” on the roller coaster, right after you’ve puked down your shirt: She loves you.
If you go to a karaoke bar with friends and do a duet of “Endless Love,” and she insists on doing the Lionel Richie part if only so she can really belt out a big “Ooh whoa” near the end, and when you’re done she announces you to the crowd as “Miss Diana Ross, everybody,” and then gives you a high-five: She loves you.
If her parents love you: She loves you, probably. If her parents hate you: She might love you, too.
If she loves you, if she really loves you, you’ll know it. If you can wake up to her staring at you and it’s not even mildly creepy, if you catch her smelling the shoulder of the hooded sweatshirt you lent her for an autumn walk at the beach, and not for B.O., if she makes you a pancake in the shape of a shark, if she calls you drunkenly at four in the morning “to talk,” if she laughs at your jokes when they’re funny and makes fun of you when they’re not, if she keeps her fridge stocked with Guinness tallboys for when you come over, if she tells you how she wishes she were closer to her sister and that her dad makes her sad: She loves you, of course she loves you.
And with a love like that, you know you should be glad.
If she hides your shoes when you’re late for work, and from a supine position on the couch plays “Hot/Cold,” and, finally, after 15 minutes of you ignoring her screaming, “Boiling! Burning up!” every time you stalk angrily by the dishwasher, gets up, flips it open to reveal the shoes, sitting there among the plates, and hands them over with a kiss and a giggle, and then laughs some more as you tie your laces in a silent rage: She loves you.
If she calls you at work that day to ask, “How are those shoes working out?”: She loves you.
If when you get home you try to hide something of hers, she finds it immediately, shaking her head, and when she pulls whatever it is—oven mitts or stretch pants—from behind the couch, she looks at you and without any attempt to hide her pity, says, “I love you”: She loves you.
If she dances with your friends: She loves you.
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| image from weheartit.com/ |
If you go to a karaoke bar with friends and do a duet of “Endless Love,” and she insists on doing the Lionel Richie part if only so she can really belt out a big “Ooh whoa” near the end, and when you’re done she announces you to the crowd as “Miss Diana Ross, everybody,” and then gives you a high-five: She loves you.
If her parents love you: She loves you, probably. If her parents hate you: She might love you, too.
If she loves you, if she really loves you, you’ll know it. If you can wake up to her staring at you and it’s not even mildly creepy, if you catch her smelling the shoulder of the hooded sweatshirt you lent her for an autumn walk at the beach, and not for B.O., if she makes you a pancake in the shape of a shark, if she calls you drunkenly at four in the morning “to talk,” if she laughs at your jokes when they’re funny and makes fun of you when they’re not, if she keeps her fridge stocked with Guinness tallboys for when you come over, if she tells you how she wishes she were closer to her sister and that her dad makes her sad: She loves you, of course she loves you.
And with a love like that, you know you should be glad.