Sunday, January 22, 2006

Love Is Not Love Which Alters When It Alteration Finds

My friend H always used to say that I'd have to marry Christofer because he was the only boy in the world capable of putting up with me. Not very flattering, but probably true. Today when I came home with frigid, purple-colored, ice-cube-like hands, I walked right up to him and thrust them into his shirt, against his chest. He gasped, flailed, and screamed like a little girl. Then he said: "I love you!"

"You love me?"

"I love you!"

"Oh. Well, that's good."

"I must love you. Otherwise I'd have killed you by now."