I love a man who keeps a set of screwdrivers in his socks drawer.
A man like that is prepared. A man like that knows that I am not.
Such a man can do anything with his hands : put a wall up out of nowhere or bake a banana-cream pie (but not at the same time). He succeeds wherever I fail.
Such a man cannot tell a lie and, alas, he is never going to learn.
He has both feet on the ground, even if he is mostly on deck.
He can park a ship as though he is parking a Smart. Whereas I park a Smart as though I am parking the Titanic. He gazes at the stars. I flip my mood according with the moon.
One day I love him, another day I hate him.
With my period and the full moon, I hate him.
When I am looking for a screwdriver to change the toothbrush batteries and I know exactly where to go: I love him.