#macnchz

I don't know your personal standards for what you look for in a partner and, if we're being Yo Gotti Real Rap real, you might as well go ahead and just shove it ALL the way to the bottom of the recycle bin and hope that shit is biodegradable.

Get it? Cause earlier I mentioned abiding garbage that should've been dealt with a long time ago. Yeah, you get it.

All I know is that my garbage ass standards for romantic entanglements have birthed most, if not all, of the major frustrations I have in my adult life. Heartbreak, stress-induced illnesses, Hulu with commercials, decaf coffee, restless leg syndrome, bad credit, eating potato salad prepared by White people, etc. So at some point, it becomes incumbent upon you to look at your 'Dumpster Behind The Taco Bell At 3 AM' trash-ass life choices and find the fuckshit symmetry between them. For some men, it's a woman with an ass so phat you can see the next two dimensions in it. For others, it may be breasts so shapely you could base an entire 4-part made-for-tv miniseries about them that consists of nothing but Halle Berry's topless scene in Swordfish. However, I am neither of these men. My line in the sand is takes the form of a question instead of aa physical attribute.

Can she cook good Mac N Cheeses, tho?

"Can she beat the last stage of Mike Tyson's Punch Out" is also acceptable.

See, I hear the simp-thinking man-thots laughing already even though their stomach are filled with nothing but disappointment and tzatziki-flavored kale chips.

"My dude, Mac n Cheese has no bearing on someone's capability or incapability in the confines of a committed relationship. And my girl says kale chips will make my bowel movement regular as fuck so stop being so ignorant."

And to that, I say no, random spokesperson for gross mid-day snacks. I'm going to say no again in 'Kanye' font so the people in the back of the club can hear me, too.

NO!!!!!!!!! #yeezinainteasy

"There beith Commanders, as well as adherents. But I, by preference, would be a phallus as opposed to the ingestor!" "I doth declare thou a fingers in the booty ass bitch!"

Mac n Cheese is unquestionably indicative of someone's capacity for the communication, adaptivity, emotional availability, and, in this particular instance, lactose intolerance related issues that invariably arise in even the most 'How many y'all wanna ride tonight' ride or die relationships. Now, I wouldn't go as far as to say that the entire foundation of your relationship should rest upon her innate ability to know the perfect ratio between 'burnt cheese crust at the top' and 'cheese so hot it could double as napalm, but I'mma eat that shit anyways.' But the attention to details you deem to be important does cover a broad spectrum of concerns one has when they commit to another person for longer than a entire season of Law & Order: SVU.

Does this person listen to you when you describe how your mother used to make Mac n Cheese so delicious that you'd sit quietly at the dining room table for an extended period even though you're 13 and you've only recently discovered that AOL Online lets you see women's nipples? Is this person capable of empathizing with you when you expressed why you believe a lovingly prepared, home cooked meal tailored for someone you care deeply about can be sustaining which is compassion which is grace which is love?

Does she know that, in some indigenous tribes, cheese is considered a powerful aphrodisiac that is responsible for more conceptions than both Drake CDs and watching The Office on Netflix combined?

Raise your hand if your child's conception had less to do with love than it did with the fact that you'd already seen all of How I Met You're Mother and you were bored.

Simply put, as I have committed myself to learning the language of her, to tediously parsing through the day to day minutia to find the crust at the bottom of toaster of who she is, so must she commit to learning the micro and macro in regards the things in which I hold dear. Albeit, this takes place over a significant amount of time. This isn't a 3rd-grade book report or a job application for a position within the Trump administration. It requires a concerted effort of both time and attentiveness that each person should bring to the potluck of clusterfuck that is the modern-day monogamous relationship. I'll make sure that everything I bring is as air sealed and Doug E. Fresh in the Rubbermaid Tupperware as she demands her partner should do. All I need to know is that I have a partner who gives enough of a shit to where I don't have to ask myself.

Five years, one month, one day feeling under-appreciated anyway Working so long and trying so hard they never tell you about this part

Terminated, Fired, given the sack it’s my personality they decide to attack Missed by most and confusing at best I’ll miss none of the work and all of the rest

I’ve had a good run but been taken out back one in the head then my things I will pack Wishing I’d gone out on my own terms How much I have loved, how much I have learned