Right now I am choosing to ignore the, "What more could you want?" comment my dear, sweet fiance posted earlier because, of course, he meant, "what more could you want besides a beautiful and loving future wife, like my Stacie?" See, we can read each other. I know him like the sixth finger scar on the back of my hand.*
Similarly, he knows that when I say, "I'm having a bad day," what I really mean is, "find some way to get a huge, chewy brownie in my brownie hole within 45 minutes of right now or else I will turn into a tornado of hair and fingernails you don't want to cross."
That's a special connection.
*I'm pretty sure I did not have a sixth finger on the back of my hand that my parents secretly had removed when I was a baby. I just say that I did because it's much cooler than saying, "See this line on my hand? It's a line."