Today is Monk’s birthday. I got him a birthday gift, and I’m pleased to be able to give it to him. But since the first night he turned up at my door, with flowers, champagne, and a wicked gleam in his eye, Monk has been a much bigger gift to me than I can ever express. Let me count just a few of the ways in which Monk is an amazing partner…
Monk will do pretty much anything to make me laugh.
Monk asks me for my opinions and my advice - and then listens to it.
If I’m having a disagreement with someone, Monk takes it as given that I must be right. Until I tell him I was wrong, at which point he kisses me and tells me that everyone makes mistakes.
Monk thinks it’s fun to brainstorm plots for (as-yet-unwritten) novels with me.
Monk gives me massages (foot, face, back, whatever) when I’m tense.
In many ways, Monk is my male twin. There are silly little things that I do that I thought no one else did. But Monk does them too. (And, no I’m not telling you what they are.)
Monk picks out movies and music he thinks I’ll like – and he’s always right.
Monk laughs at me when I inform him how irresistibly handsome he is, but it’s probably safer for women (and men) everywhere that he not truly understand the seismic power of his big blue eyes and dazzling smile.
If I say, “Try this, it’ll be okay” – then Monk will trust me and take chances with me.
Monk would honestly and diplomatically tell me if these pants made my ass look big.
Monk understands exactly why I fear the things I fear.
Monk has held my hair back while I was rather spectacularly sick with the flu.
Monk can read my body language from across a crowded room. He can often finish my sentences. In fact, he can damn near read my mind sometimes, which would be scary if he wasn’t so good at showing me that he loves what’s in there.
Monk and I can talk endlessly for hours, or we can relax in an easy silence.
Monk and I both have egos of such size and strength that they could lay waste, Godzilla-like, to
