My fiancée asks, "Why do you love me?"
      I have only recently adjusted to her dressing room queries—"Do these jeans pull in the butt?"—which remind me of shopping with my mother as a kid, how loudly she would ask about the room in my crotch.  
      I turn the tables: "Why do you love me?" and I am promptly hit with a bulleted list, and upon hearing these reasons I begin to fall in love with myself...
      And for my 30th birthday she comes up with an additional thirty reasons, which she illustrates and binds with yarn into a pocket-sized book.
      For her 30th, the first card I pick is a riddle: "How does a French cow wish you Happy Birthday?" When she opens it, an enormous tongue slips forth from the mouth of a Holstein.
             

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