I often ask him why he loves me. “Because you are great,” he says. “WHY?? WHAT IS BROKEN ABOUT YOU THAT MAKES YOU THINK THAT?” I often scream back. He usually just shrugs and kisses me, and tells me I am his favorite person. It is still deeply confusing, but twenty years later I no longer think that it is a mistake or that he has me mixed up with someone else.
