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Sorry, I couldn't resist. And "sexiest man" has no inherent celebrity qualification attached.
He has Olbermann's political sensibilities and sense of humor without the overweening ego. (Sorry, I love Keith, but if there were a drinking game where you had to take a shot every time he made a self-congratulatory comment, we'd all have cirrhosis by now.)
He's absolutely adorable, and incredibly sexy, and completely clueless about it.
He is totally goofy about our dog, and plays with him on the floor like a six-year-old.
He is conscientious and thoughtful without a whiff of pomp or piety.
He is insanely smart but never show-offy.
My friends call him "the gold standard," and the women in his office love him.
The guys do, too.
Okay, and so do kids and dogs.
He doesn't take any crap, but doesn't make many enemies, either.
He buys me a little gift a day for the month of my birthday. (The first year he did this, when we'd just started going out, he bought me a lot of soaps, which made me wonder if he was trying to tell me something. But it was just the guy-think "women like soaps" thing.)
He still roots for the Detroit Lions, the team he grew up with, who have pretty much never won anything. Ditto the Tigers, who have won once. And he still loves screw-ups like Denny McClain.
He defends me to his mother. (He was her late-in-life "miracle baby," and she still thinks he's a little too young to be married, at 47.)
The first thing he bought for our house was a Sears workbench, like his dad had.
After 14 years, I still grab him every chance I get.
And mostly for good (and sometimes for ill!), he still really drives me mad.
