Sometimes (like now), muscular arms, a cleft chin, and a shared propensity for B-horror films do nothing for me. Sometimes (like now), all I want is a guy who will bring me chicken soup in bed. Without me asking.
Because when it comes down to it, extreme hotness and mind-blowing sex can go a long way, but simple thoughtfulness goes even further. Will you bring me a bowl of Chickarina? Try using these double-handed soup bowls, so as to avoid burnt limbs:
[$19.99, Brylane Home]
See you soon. My place. My bed.