Sometimes I wish my husband would

drink. Just one beer. Once.

enjoy Art. Fine Art. And take me to the MET.

get excited over my big purchases. Like my purple Coach bag.

stop talking in complete circles. Making me sleepy.

eat fish. Octopus especially.

learn Greek. Or master English. Just something.

take initiative in getting his hair cut. Without me telling him that he looks primordial.

speak up to people who walk all over him.

realize that his Nextel is no longer cool. Especially not at 5AM.

understand that there are other people in the world that sneeze more than me. It's called allergies.

figure out that his wedding ring belongs on his finger not his nightstand.

not make funny faces when eating things containing mayonnaise.

stop checking his burger to make sure it's plain and just eat it. What good is a burger without all the goods? I'd die to stick an onion in it when he wasn't looking.

watch something other than This Old House.

use the computer for something other than researching things that he will never have. Like a steel three car garage.

plow for anyone else besides us and my parents. He's the only guy I know that has a plow and doesn't use it for making extra bank.

know how to play cards. I enjoy cards.

enjoy playing any game besides WII sports. I enjoy games.

get a tattoo. What good are nice arm muscles without a tattoo?

have a revelation in which he comprehends that if he wears a hat to work, it's going to get sweaty and gross. He should keep wearing that hat to work. Instead of ruining every hat that he owns.

find happiness on the beach. Just laying on the beach. Swimming. Sand. Sharks. Peace and quiet.

But all these things, my dear friends, make him one of a kind. My one of a kind. And that makes all the difference.