If Harry Styles were your boyfriend, he would give you a dumb pet name like “Lemon” or “Peanut Shell” or “Cow Udder,” and he’d laugh whenever it made you angry, and whenever you’d tell him to stop, he’d get scared that he was really hurting your feelings, and he’d stare at you with a dumb smile until you laughed and told him it was alright.
If Harry Styles were your boyfriend, he’d pretend to be angry whenever you’d sneak clothes from his closet, but he’d secretly leave his favorite shirts closest to your side so he can see what you look like when you wear them.
If Harry Styles were your boyfriend, he would whisper knock-knock jokes in your ear in the middle of a quiet room to try to get you to laugh out loud.
If Harry Styles were your boyfriend, he’d wait at home one day while you were at work, looking sad and serious as you walked through the door, and tell you with an absolutely unforgiving face that he’s pregnant with your child, and still, without laughing, he’d slowly stuff a pillow up his shirt and rub his abdomen, starting to cry, never breaking into a smile, just waiting for you to yell at him, before you both fall to the ground in laughter.
If Harry Styles were your boyfriend, he would walk out of the bathroom without wearing a towel while you had guests are over, just to make you uncomfortable.
If Harry Styles were your boyfriend, he would bake you a sloppy cake for your birthday, and it would fall apart as he handed it to you, and he’d feel sorry and apologize as globs of frosting fell to the floor, but it would make you smile anyway.
If Harry Styles were your boyfriend, your entire closet floor would be covered in a thin layer of brightly colored glitter, and the pomeranian you share together would run thru it throughout the day and drag the glitter around your house, so everything would shine just a little bit whenever it was sunny outside.
If Harry Styles were your boyfriend, you’d come home one night to find the house completely empty, and as you changed into your sweatpants in the dark, he would jump out of the closet drunkenly singing “Wide Open Spaces” by the Dixie Chicks at the top of his lungs in only his underwear.
If Harry Styles were your boyfriend, he would tell your mom that her lasagna is his favorite lasagna, and he’d ask for an extra plate to take home after dinner, and he’d eat it the second you both got back home without heating it in the microwave.
If Harry Styles were your boyfriend, you’d come home one day to find him trying to make you dinner, the stove in flames and the oven engulfed in smoke and him, in only a chef’s apron, trying to make everything right. And he’d look up at you with a sad look on his face as the oven door sputtered open in a gust of smoke, and you’d take down the fire extinguisher and spray out the smoke and then spray him for making you put out his mess.
If Harry Styles were your boyfriend, he would secretly steal the doodles you left on a napkin at a restaurant table and he’d have them put in a beautiful frame that he would wrap himself and give to you on your anniversary.
If Harry Styles were your boyfriend, he would take you on a long road trip he planned all by himself, and he’d agree to let you pick the dumb car radio music, but then he’d sing every song out loud in the most annoying voice he could muster.
If Harry Styles were your boyfriend, he would tell you he’d wait for you to watch your favorite Netflix show together, but he would start watching it without you, feel guilty about it 5 minutes in, and stop, confessing his transgression to you the second you walked in the door, nearly in tears, and he wouldn’t be consoled until you stopped what you were doing and watched it with him right then.
If Harry Styles were your boyfriend, he would accidentally kick you in his sleep every night and sleepily apologize every time.
If Harry Styles were your boyfriend, he would drop hints every day about what he wanted for his birthday, then act surprised when you got him what he wanted, trying to make you feel like it was your idea.
If Harry Styles were your boyfriend, he would make you tea and serve it to you in bed on a little platter with a tiny plate of cookies and a little flower in a little vase. He’d apologize for making the tea too hot, and blow on it himself until it was cool enough for you to drink. And he’d watch you while you sipped it to make sure you were as satisfied as possible.
If Harry Styles were your boyfriend, he’d pack you both a picnic basket on a Sunday and take you to the park on a tandem bike he rented for the day. He’d spend hours trying to find the perfect pond to be next to and the perfect tree to sit under and the perfect patch of grass to lay on. He would smooth out a blanket and once you both sat down, he’d open the basket and find that he’d grabbed the wrong one and left your sandwiches back home, the ones he’d sloppily made himself, along with the potato salad he’d made to go with them. And he’d look up at you with big eyes that said, “I’m sorry, you’ll never forgive me.” But you will forgive him. And you’ll kiss him on the head and then on the cheek. And you’ll lie together on your blanket with empty stomachs until the sun set.
(Post inspired by the wonderful and hilarious Mallory Ortberg of the Toast, who wrote her own oeuvre to Stanley Tucci.)