Things I Know About Harold

Prompt from The 3 A.M. Ephiphany. I've lost the page but basically it said to write a story as a list.
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Things I know about Harold:

He's tall.
He seems dark because of the thick head of dark brown hair, black bushy eyebrows and mathching mustache, but his skin is pale.
He's somewhat handsome, especially when he smiles because his teeth are straight and white and he has the cutest dimple in his right cheek.
He plays golf with his father on the third Tuesday afternoon of every month unless it is raining or the wind is over 15 mph or there is snow or ice on the ground.
He went to college to be a teacher.
Now he is a policeman (he wanted to be the one with the gun).
He is still a skilled teacher.
Harold has taught me to water ski.
Harold taught me how to change a flat.
Harold taught me how to use a hoola popper.
He used to ride a motorcycle until he worked his first motorcycle accident.
He's afraid of elevators.
His mother died when he was sixteen, after they'd had a fight and he told her he hated her.
Harold knows how to be thrifty.
His bank accounts are balanced to the penny and quite full.
When we go out someplace formal, he wears an Italian leather jacked that "was worth every penny."
He loves original paintings and often saves to buy them when the art festival comes to town every spring.
He lives in a small apartment near the precinct.
When he was six dreamed of living on a ranch in Wyoming and raising race horses.
He still loves to ride horses fast.
He drives slow.
He hates noise, especially when it is loud and repetitive.
The books he reads bore me.
He likes long hair.
His father remarried when Harold was twenty.
Harold's stepmother is a nurse in the pediatric ICU at our local hospital.
He was the kindest, gentlest policeman I'd ever met when he interviewed me because I was robbed when enroute to the bank with the deposit for the school I work for.
He loves what is good, right and honest but he will not tell you the truth if the truth is ugly.
Harold is quick to come to the defense of the downtrodden and helpless.
He also has no time for the lazy person, the mean person or the con artist.
It took him six weeks to work up the nerve to get in touch with me after the mugging.
It's impossible to get him to talk if he's afraid or upset.
He is an unashamed fan of romantic comedies.
He has never tasted anything as good as my German Potato Salad (or so he says).
He forgets to water his houseplants.
He gives me the most thoughtful gifts, never flashy or expensive but always perfect.
He understands and accepts my moral values (unheard of among his peers).
It takes him a long time to learn to trust someone.
I have known Harold for seven years now.
Harold says the number seven is perfect and wondered if I think it is too.
Harold knew I'd say yes.