He can balance a wet filter filled with coffee grounds on an overfull can of trash like the last in a house of cards, so delicately perched in perfect equilibrium that really there's no need to empty it, it can just stay that way indefinitely.
He can use one knife in both the peanut butter and the jelly so adroitly that by the time you make your fifth sandwich from the new jar of Jiff you may not even need to bother with the jelly, its already mixed in.
He can use five towels a day, he's that concerned with freshness.
He can fit fifteen shirts on a single hook in his closet.
He can make the pool go from green to gray and back to green using only $200 worth of chemicals.
He's really good at telling me ways not to spend money on groceries. His suggestions are always excellent, and I love his help.
He can poop with the door open.
He can cut wire using only my fabric scissors.
He can be on the roof with the kids without being the least bit nervous.
He can balance his laptop on his chest, just under his chin and type with little elfin flipper hands protruding from his neck, in the dark.
He can come up with a new and exciting way of putting the dishes away, every single time, so that I'm never bored by finding the can opener.
He's considerate about venting the zip-lock bags so that the cheese can breath in the fridge.
He always reminds me to put the vacuum away in a way that I can hear it, even if I'm in the other room, which I appreciate.
Whenever I forget that he's a Republican he can think of new and more subtle ways of reminding me, so that I never forget, and that's a comfort.
He's more than willing to share my toothbrush with me.
I'm the luckiest girl in the world.