That's how I feel.
I am married to the best man in the whole world.
That sounds pretty lame, but consider this:
He makes a perfect marinara sauce.
Last week he did all the laundry and then cleaned the laundry room.
He always notices when I cut my hair or am wearing something new, and he always compliments me. I don't know if he is being sincere, but I don't care.
He is endlessly patient but not a pushover. I don't know how he manages this delicate balance.
He actually loves to read and talk about books.
He will watch as many Law & Order reruns as I want to see (they aren't reruns for me).
He opens doors for me, including car doors.
He helps little old ladies carry their groceries.
He's really, really cute.
He makes sure we always have great music to listen to.
He likes simple things, like walking with me and Neko.
He's very romantic.
He plays the rhyming game with me even though he knows he will lose because I am the champion.
He is cheerful most of the time but not so cheerful you want to smack him.
I could go on and on, but who's counting? Not me.