I hate that when you're not in bed, I can't sleep well. Sometimes I will fall into a deep sleep, but I almost always wake up and wonder where you are. I hate worrying, even though I know that you are always somewhere trying to get back to me.
I hate that I need to hear the sound of your breathing -- and even your snoring -- in order to feel completely comfortable in our bed. I hate being so dependent on someone else for such simple emotional security.
I hate that you hate your gray hairs, even though I think they make you look distinguished and mature -- and I feel doubly bad about the fact that I am secretly a little bit proud of every single gray hair that you have earned from being married to me.
I hate that no matter how hard I look, no matter how hard I try, I can't find a single wrinkle on your face. I've seen you frown, but yet your face is totally unlined. I guess I've earned every one of my wrinkles like you've earned every one of your gray hairs. I don't like it.
I hate that you look much more handsome with your grays, and I just look older with my wrinkles. I guess I just hate that growing older together means that we both have to, you know, get older. I still feel like we're the same teenage dirtbags who fell in love all those years ago, and I hate that we don't still look it.
I hate that you get as excited when my teams win championships as you do when your own teams do. Your teams have, combined, won 16 championships -- your football team alone has won more championships than all my teams combined. I especially hate that you're such an unselfish fan that you were less upset that the Steelers lost the Super Bowl this year than I was. How dare you have the decency to be a really good sport, you jerk?
I hate that you make me be the "bad cop" sometimes when it comes to disciplining our daughter. I hate that I am better at being the "bad cop" that you are.
I hate that pained look on your face when it's your turn to be the "bad cop." I really hate that I am better at being the "bad cop" than you are.
I hate that you don't like mushrooms or Brussels sprouts, which are two of my very favorite vegetables in the whole world. I hate that no amount of bacon, garlic, butter, cheese sauce, or other kitchen alchemy can make you love these foods.
I hate that after seventeen years together, including twelve years of marriage, I had to work really hard to come up with this list of ten things that I (don't) really hate about you. I hate that I know that I'm the lucky one, here -- I get to spend the rest of my life with Mr. Perfect-for-Me, and you get to spend the rest of your life with ... well, me.