Love has a way of causing premature senility.

And I mean that in the best way possible.

After three years of total immersion, you, too, will begin to laugh at jokes that your significant other never made. And when he points out that he never, in fact, made the joke, you'll nevertheless congratulate him for his brilliant ability to make you laugh (and contract a fierce case of hiccups) without even trying.

On occasion, you'll argue amongst yourselves about whether or not NPR is turned up too loud as you sit at the stoplight on the way to Winco.
"Turn it down. You're officially bumping the NPR."
"Am not."
"Are so. The guy in the Ford in front of us is looking at you funny."
"His bumper sticker says 'Whip Me, Strip Me, Tie Me, Fly Me.' He's a fly-fisherman. He's probably listening to the same thing."
"You're going to blow out the speakers."
"Am not."
"Are so."
"Oh, fine, I'll turn it down. Quit heckling."

And after five minutes' worth of such senior-citizen-esque bickering, you'll declare your love for each other afresh, with much patting of knees and squeezing of hands.
"You're my favorite-est."
"You're a wild pumpkin."
"I love you too."
"Did you bring the grocery list?"
"No, I forgot it."
"Well hot damn."