You watch the fast car/hot girl movie with him because he swears you’ll love it (LOL).
You don’t pressure him into watching “The Notebook” with you, even though he’s obviously Noah and you’re Allie.
And yes, if he’s a bird, you’re obviously going to be a fucking bird, too.
You reassure him that he looks sexy with his hair pushed back.
And that his participation in no-shave November is in no way disgusting. He actually looks hot with pubes growing on his face.
You don’t resort to flirting with other boys when he’s being a dick–even though other boys would totally flirt with you.
You pretend you didn’t see the way he checked out your scantily-clad sorority sister. That slut.
You don’t tag him at every. single. place. you go together.
Just the important ones that will make everyone else jealous, like your parents’ house and Target.
You reassure him of your love, attraction, and loyalty when he needs it, even if he won’t specifically ask for it.
You just accept the fact that there is no talking when “his” team is playing.
Or when a Hardee’s or Victoria’s Secret commercial is on. Gross boys.
You deleted the #MCM picture you posted of him drunkenly peeing on your city’s prized landmark.
You give him a bite of your food, even though his “bites” are half of your sandwich.
You ask him about his fantasy football league without oozing sarcasm.
And you didn’t even remind him that it’s not actually his team, it’s just a game, and he should get different hobbies.
You try not to act too disgusted when he takes off his pants before his shirt.
Even though you’re suddenly just staring at a penis poking out from under his shirt and wondering what you did to deserve this.
The Kate Upton calendar on his wall is there to stay, and you’ve learned to deal with it.
You’re totally fine with him having guys’ nights.
Well, you hold your tongue and act like it’s no big deal that he’s going to a restaurant where the girls wear schoolgirl skirts and bras and make serving a heaping plate of wings seem sexy.
You don’t get offended when he wants to do his own thing–you wanted to wear sweatpants and stare at pictures of Nick Jonas, anyway.
You take his “woman, make me a sandwich jokes” in stride.
You do, in fact, make him damn good sandwiches every once in a while, too.
You smile like you understand what he’s saying when he explains the plot line of his video game to you.
And sure, you’ll play a round of “Call of Duty” with him, even though it will result in you letting everyone down while you cry because you don’t know how to reload your gun.
You kiss him on the forehead when he’s feeling down, just like his mom used to do.
Then you take a trip down to the blow job station, just like his mom didn’t do.
And yes, you put on an Academy Award-winning performance every time.
You’ve accepted the fact that you’re his girlfriend, not his mom. He can decide if he wants to go to class, cut his hair, or wear gym shorts to dinner.
You avoid posting embarrassingly intimate, four-page-long love letters to his Facebook.
Because yes, you love him soooooo much. But you also respect the fact that his fourth grade karate sensei doesn’t need to see that shit.
You work just as hard to win his friends over as you did to win him over.
“You guys want me to grab you some beers while you’re watching this manly sporting event? No problem.”
You’ve long since accepted the fact that he has, does, and will continue to watch porn.
And you don’t badger him about why he likes to watch “Asian Sorority Sluts 7,” because whatever.
You own an apron purely to amuse him, and you’ve made him dinner in it. Naked. Because you’re a winner.
You fight the temptation to look through his phone because you’re a decent human, not because you don’t know his password.
When faced with the choice between heels or wedges, you pick heels because you know he thinks you look sexy in them.
Well, sometimes you pick heels. If you’ll be sitting down most of the night. And drunk.
You eat hot dogs slowly, suck on lollypops seductively, and drink from straws deeply, just to watch him squirm delightfully.
You go out of your way to watch him play intramural sports, even if he isn’t the MVP of the game.
You go because he’s the MVP of your heart. And you made him a really cute, clever sign that you want to show off.
I guess you’ll break your diet to share nachos with him. But only out of love.
You don’t text him 45 times when he’s out with his friends and then convince yourself that he’s cheating on you with a foreign exchange student.
And you make sure he knows that no matter what, he’s the guy for you. Despite the fights over where to eat, who that girl is, and why he didn’t get you a present for Flag Day, you think he’s wonderful. At the end of the day, he’s your teammate, your partner in crime, and your best friend. And that is a reason to feel #blessed that he’s your #ManCrushEveryDay.
Aspiring to be the next Tina Fey, Rachel spends her free time doing nothing to reach that goal. While judging people based on how they use "they're" vs. "there" on social media, she likes eating buffalo chicken dip, watching other people's Netflix, and wearing sweatpants way more than is socially acceptable.