Love Me Do

I love my husband. Can I just take a moment to say that? And its not just because he bought me a super silver car and a super silver laptop that came with a super silver iPod. Although that helped, I'll admit.

Kidding.

I just love the guy. He delights in seeing me happy but not to the point where he is compromising who he is and what he believes. He believes in Macintosh and Subaru lucky for me. He's not a rug I can walk all over thank the heavens, but he also isn't some overly macho jackass who feels as though sharing consideration and love for someone is the equivalent to donning a pair of tight Gap jeans and living in the Pearl.

I'm going to stop trying to explain myself at this point because I have realized that if I continue you will all be subject to a mishmash of cliche thoughts on Love which I direly wish to rescue you from. And so I shall. You're welcome.

Love is really not complicated at all but it is so hard to write about without everything sounding as though it belongs in a Hallmark card. Find someone who can describe the feeling of a summer evening slipping away to tunes of old twenties music, or the silhouette of blue mountain ranges just as the sun is dropping under the earth--they may have a slight chance of being able to describe Love with utter tear jerking truth. I certainly cannot. You may also be able to find some five year old who can relay Love in just a sentence--the simplicity and honesty shockingly precise. Again, not me. Actually as I think about it, I seem to be hovering between two groups who can capture love's essence and slap it on paper without any nauseating effects on the reader. And here I am hovering like a idiot--censored to the topic of Love all for the sake of the reader--may a gag reflex never find you because of me. There. Now that is love.