This is what I see each time I get into Mister’s car. He’s had this postcard of David Cross for ages, and it never fails to make me smile.
I’m a softie, I admit. When I snapped this pic, I could have teared up. That isn’t because I have a soft spot for David Cross, it’s because I have a soft spot for Mister. I love that guy. He makes me crazy sometimes, but I cannot deny an overwhelming affection for him.
The softie part of me, though a lovely part of who I am, can be a bit much. For instance, I watched the final episode of “How I Met Your Mother” this week and it really got to me. I know a lot of folks are upset with the ending, and they’re allowed. But for me, I didn’t mind the ending. The concept of waiting for love plucked my heart’s strings. After watching the show, I went over and hugged Mister and cried a little. The show triggered my gratitude for the love in my life, for Mister. That’s what being a softie means in my world. I don’t think that’s too shabby.
Anyhoo, I have a friend who despises David Cross, and when she gets into Mister’s car she sucks it up and says nothing. But I can’t help her on that one. It’s Mister’s car after all, and he loves that postcard of Cross’ goofy smile. So in his car it remains. And because Mister loves it, I love it. That is also what being a softie means for me. And you know what? I’m okay with that. I really, really am.