Ask, “Hey, you need a spotter?” as he swiftly chooses “fat burner” on the elliptical.
“Is it in yet?”
Post really long, paragraph style Facebook statuses about how you’ve finally met a “real man who ain’t afraid to cry and loves watching rom coms as we cuddle.” Hell, make a blog out of it. Definitely use the word cuddle multiple times and be sure to do this daily.
Order a beer just one shade darker than whatever he ordered. Just one.
Remind him of all the awesome things your awesome, rich ex-boyfriends got you. Act mildly unimpressed when he tries to court you with a thoughtful, handmade present that clearly only cost a couple of bucks and hours of his time.
Insist that he gets a manicure with you. Instagram the hell out of the outing.
Offer to buy the condoms when you two horn-bird stop at CVS. Come back with a pack of mediums and laugh when he asks you why you bought them.
When he asks to borrow your ChapStick, give him the one with a little glimmery shade to it. Tell him it brings out his eyes when he realizes that shit he just traced around his mouth.
Ask him if this is his first rodeo halfway through sex. When he says no, give a dramatic sigh of disappointment and ask him to critique your orgasm acting debut.
Link your Pinterest to his Facebook and select “yes, yes, YES!” to all of the “publish notifications” mumbo jumbo you need to click through.
Look him dead in the eyes after he cracks a joke, and, using your best resting bitch face, say, “I just can’t stop laughing at your jokes.”
As you drive around town with the windows down, usurp the radio and start playing the Dixie Chick’s “Home” album.
Tweet screenshots of him texting girly things like “Summer Shandy is delicious!” to your unimpressive amount of Twitter followers.
Allow him to be the little spoon once, then very vocally complain about always having to be the big one on every form of social media. (The people love Facebook statuses about this kind of stuff.)
Give his penis a nickname. Go with something that ends in “pookie.”
Write mildly humorous PGP columns under a nickname with a subtle penis innuendo. Insist he call you it in front of his friends and while in the bedroom.
Brag about your sexual history like it’s a participant trophy, and not the shitty kind fathers everywhere are giving to a team of soccer playing 7-year-olds, but the kind you earn for having more “participants” than years you’ve been alive on this earth.
Throwback Thursday his baby photos.
Remind him how great cranberry juice is for menstrual cramps as he orders a Stoli-cran.
“Are you sure it’s in?”
Make a craft out of his “Sports Illustrated” magazines and leave it on the kitchen table before his poker night. Utilize the Pinterest page you made earlier for ideas.
Make him order first at a restaurant and then get something way more unhealthy than he did.