Jack

I’m a pretty level-headed guy that tries to keep things in perspective. I’m a big believer in the phrase “don’t sweat the small stuff.”

When we’re dating, the “small stuff,” things that aren’t big enough for me to justifiably make an issue out of them, but still bother me, inevitably piles up. Things like you grabbing the last fry off my plate, taking the last swig of my drink or losing my last life in Mario  all make me silently stew in a rage that, if acted upon, would make Godzilla’s carnage look minor.

But still, I stay silent, because I want to be the bigger person.

I let stuff like you commenting on how hot [insert NFL quarterback here] looks in his uniform pants, or how great Magic Mike was go, even though you react angrily whenever I comment on Kate Upton or Jessica Alba’s performance in Honey.

I let that go, because I have perspective.

I don’t say anything when my favorite song comes on — sung by a man in a deep baritone voice — and you insist on singing it in your loudest falsetto voice, which barely pays any attention to things like “singing on key” or “this is by Johnny Cash and you sound like Carly Rae Jepsen with laryngitis.”

No, I let that go, because there are more important things in our relationship.

No, there’s nothing that really bothers me enough to nag me. Even though I don’t even like when my male friends, who played football in high school, offer their analysis of why Adrian Peterson should have cut back instead of bouncing to the outside, I sit by with nothing more than a mildly annoyed smirk on my face when you explain in painstaking detail what exactly is wrong with Mark
Sanchez’s throwing motion, based exclusively on that time your dad showed you how to throw a football when you were four.

No, I don’t say anything, because I love you, and I’m sure deep down, you realize how ridiculous you sound.

But the biggest thing for which I would never judge you, because I am a man that embraces everybody’s quirks and recognizes that nobody is perfect, is your deep and intimate relationship — apparently hidden from me — with the biggest celebrities that just happens to dovetail perfectly with what gossip rags write about them.

I would never call you out for saying things like, “Rihanna’s clearly still in love with Chris Brown,” or “Katy Perry’s such a bad friend to Taylor Swift for dating John Mayer.”

I’m sure that, even though I spend an average of 20 hours a day with you, and these stars live on the other side of the country, that you are privy to some inside information that didn’t originate from an episode of “Entertainment Tonight” or the cover story of Us Weekly that you skimmed while buying ice cream and Doritos at Rite Aid.

No, I would never do that, because I love you, and I don’t sweat the small stuff.

Jill

I fell in love with you because of your laugh. It’s a fun loving, hearty laugh that always tells me you’re enjoying yourself. After the laugh, I learned about how sweet you are, how smart you are, how loyal you are. That’s when I knew I didn’t have a chance – I was completely in love with you.

These are the first things I think about when I think of you. But after all of that, I’ve learned some other things about you as well. These are the things that won’t make me love you any less, but they certainly aren’t helping me like you any more.

I’m not trying to pick a fight – I probably won’t even point these things out to you – but there are some of the things that make me cringe every time they happen.

The toilet seat. C’mon now – this is not hard. It goes down just as easily as it goes up. It’s a modern feat of science. But, there is nothing that gets me more than when I say good night to you and head to my bathroom to brush my teeth and the seat is up. It doesn’t even bother me so much when it’s up at your own apartment. You live with all boys, I get it, but for the love of God, when you’re at my apartment, please put it down.

My friends. I know you may not be interested in the recent celebrity gossip or who wore what to the bar the night before, but just try to participate in conversations with them. I know you as a personable, fun guy who will talk my ear off if I let you. They think you’re an antisocial hermit.

Don’t ask me if I’m mad if you know I am. Feigning ignorance about how I feel after you left me waiting for an hour for you to play your FIFA game makes me madder than the wait did. If you know I’m upset, just apologize – don’t make me outline exactly what you did wrong, It will just make everything that much more… maddening.

Women jokes. They’re only funny the first time, and sometimes the second, but rarely the third.

Correcting me. I know you’re smart. But correcting me every single time I make a small error in word choice grinds my gears like no other. You do it because you can’t help it, I appreciate that, but every time I feel like a third grader being corrected by her teacher. In a completely non-sexy way.

I realize that there are things you have to accept when you’re dating someone. And believe you me, I know I’m far from perfect. I laugh at inappropriate times. I will probably not be the winner of the next American Idol. I burp in public. I wear sweats at least half the week. I never take the time in the morning to do my hair or wear make up.

And like I said, these things do not make me love you any less – but I can promise you things will be a lot better for you if I never see that seat up again.