"Told you that your book’s good. And not just cos I liked the title. Clearly YALSA’s got their head screwed on right, though you can’t seem to judge your own merits for shit. Now come over here and sit in my lap and tell me all about your sprained pinky finger…Sweetheart! This is terrible! You gotta be more careful with yourself…"
"What in the ever-loving fuck did you do to my shirt, Carrie? I mean, I get that you don’t like guns and are scared of your own shadow and shit, so I figured you could handle laundry. But Jesus Fucking Christ! You had ONE JOB…”
Baby, I hear you’ve been looking at another man. I’m not mad. Honest! I’m not. You can look at that "flouncing tart" all you want, go ahead. I mean, who’s in your bed at the end of the day? Ain’t nothing for it.
Seriously, though? The Headless Horseman? Such bullshit…”
"Lovely ball gown, darling. Now get on and we’ll ride straight through until it’s no longer November."
Darling, listen. There’s going to be a lot - no, there is a lot of talk about me in the press. But it’s you who are most important to me, you I’m doing this for. And we’ll be together when all this is over. God, it sounds ridiculous but - I burn for you. Only you.
"There. See. Bloody knuckles prove it. I just killed off everything you hate about today. Now I’m gonna take a bath and you can take out the splinters from my palms and I won’t even cry because I’m tough as hell and pain just makes me croon old Johnny Cash songs…What? Who told you that your hair looked like that fucker from Twisted Sister? Fuck them sideways. I’ll go straighten that shit out. After my bath, though. Come on, sweetheart."
"What? You are not feeling well today, my Carolita linda? This is not good. This makes me want to drop my basketball and rush to your side with hot tea and sopa de pollo and you can tell me about all those patterns on Ravelry you’re putting on your Christmas list. And when you’re tired, I will flutter my eyelashes on your cheeks to send you sweet dreams. This is not the custom where you live? Que verguenza, querida. I will show you how this works.”
"No, darling, you absolutely must rest now. You must pull the covers up and be still. I’ll take care of the house and get some soup. I’d stay all day with you here, but it’s not what’s best for you. Yes, just one more kiss and then you must promise me you’ll rest and get better. My love."
"I know you’ve got a book due, Carrie. It’s a burden, I get it. Tell you what, let me draw some fresh Xs on the backs of your hands to give you the sense of self-righteousness you’re going to need to power through. Then you can buy some of that new soap you like to scrub the Sharpie off.”
"Baby, I’m angry about so many things. The government, the patriarchy, and that Tibet still is not fucking free. But when that guy spoke to you in that tone of voice at work the other day, I wanted to rip his head off and then…you know…cuddle you."
"Hand to god, is anyone lazier than you? Probably you should get out of bed. We all get it; you did a book festival thingy on Saturday but sweet suffering christ, lady, that was two days ago. I mean, go write something. Make someone breakfast. I don’t fucking know. No, I’m not mad. Just sad is all."
"I know; it’s dry out here, honey. I brought some water. Here…oh, your lips are so dry! Let me just pour some on my fingers and get them a little wet for you. Your hands must be sore and sandy. I’ll hold the bottle and you can just take a drink. That’s good. Let’s see if we can ride a little farther, okay?"
Oh, darling, it embarrasses me to be this adorably handsome. Truly, it does. I’d like to make it up to you somehow. What say I take you out for a bite and a pint down at the corner pub to meet some of my mates? I realize this down-to-earth quality makes me even more unbearably attractive, however. All I can do is offer my deepest apologies and offer to — oh, I don’t know — recite some of my lines from Henry V or something.”