Chatty Man.

The Mister is chatty. He is also the friendliest person I've ever met. Often I wonder if he asked me to marry him because he's so damn nice.
Every place we go, he makes a new friend. Bars, restaurants, grocery stores, emergency rooms: a new buddy waits. It's amazing. Although I'm nice, I'm not that nice. Less people equal less hassle as far as my thinking goes.
The Mister also talks a lot. If he gets on the phone to Philadelphia, where his fellow friend in chattiness lives, it could be hours. They are like 12-year-old girls in that respect; manly girls who talk about circuits and the newest audio equipment, but girls nonetheless. (Thank god his Philly friend's wife and I get along so well. We email like normal people.)
I just got off the phone with The Mister (fucking finally) after saying, "Bye! You're holding up the works. Just hang up the phone and you can talk when you get home. I love you. Bye!"
I've got a very sneaky suspicion there's a tired, unsuspecting soul tromping home from work who will see The Mister's kind eyes and sit next to him on the Metro. They'll be friends in less than sixty seconds.
...well, I should probably straighten up for the new friend The Mister brings home.