I never thought I’d see so many twinkle lights in one place. I mean, seriously, they have to have either bought out the whole store or have been collecting for years. I can admit, it makes the place look pretty dreamy, which is really tough for my grumpy act.

There’s cider booths, a petting zoo, and pumpkins as far as the eye can see. Rightfully so, seeing as this is a pumpkin patch. So many vendors have set up camp to sell their fall or pumpkin themed product. From photo booths, carnival games, to pumpkin pie eating competitions and pumpkin carving contests. It’s all crammed into this parking lot.

And you’ve made us do it all.

I initially didn’t want to come because it seemed so cliche. Everyone goes to a pumpkin patch for a cute date in the fall. They take cheesy pictures and pretend that the apple cider donuts were the best thing they’ve ever tasted in their lives.

And they are. I actually couldn’t believe it when I ate it. But, again, I had to keep up my whole ‘don’t want to be here’ facade so all I said was, “Yeah, that’s good.”

You can see right through my act, though. Smiling when I huff, dragging me to the stands you know I’ll love, and laughing loudly when you force me into all the photo op’s. I do it all willingly, no fight or protest, because I’m secretly having a good time. And you know it.

It might be just from watching you have such a good time, but either way, I can no longer deny. The donuts were delicious, we found the most perfect pumpkins, and I did pay an absurd amount for 3 rounds of a carnival game just to win you the stuffed animal you wanted.

It’s all still incredibly cliche, but maybe I’m discovering that I like being cliche with you. Maybe next we’ll go to an art gallery?

Your hand is clasped with mine, the other being used to carry your oversized teddy bear, as we walk through the patch. The hay on the floor crunches with each of our steps, sometimes poking up through my pant leg. I can tell you’ve spotted something that intrigues you with the way your grip tightens and you start dragging me in a set direction.

A hayride.

Okay, this might be pushing it.

But you look up at me with your classic puppy dog eyes, pouted lip and everything, and I fold like a piece of tissue paper—so fast and easy. I sigh as I pull out my wallet, paying the properly dressed farm boy a whopping $40—what a scam—just for him to drive us around in a circle. You bounce on your feet excitedly as he leads us to our carriage.

I only drop your hand to instead grab onto your waist so I can hoist you up into the old-timey vehicle. Climbing in after you, you immediately cuddle up to my side, not even using your half of the bench seat. And that is okay with me.

You’ve really got me loving all this cheesy stuff, but just because I get to do it with you.