Love is a strange and enigmatic thing, and one I don't believe anybody really understands. Not in the same way we understand a pencil, or a math problem.
It never occurred to me to mention things like her beauty, her presence in a room, her poise... it seems petty to think about them even now, when stacked up against "You are you." I'm only speaking for myself because, hell, I'm 25; what the hell do I know about life or love, or any of those big, nebulous things we all struggle with? Not much. That said, it seems to me that if beauty, poise, style, even enter the conversation, it might not be true love after all. These are tangibles, things that can be fixed, people trained. These are matters of education, nothing more. Compatible senses of humor, intelligence, ambition, kindness..., these are things that cannot be fixed, no matter what Nicholas Sparks tells us. People change, but only when they are damned good and ready to.
Why am I saying this? It couldn't be to give you some semblance of a reason for why Chef is late, could it? COULD IT? Well, there's some of that in here, I suppose. I guess I just wanted to talk about stuff for a minute. You don't mind, do you? DO YOU? If you do. . . I should have Chef up in a bit, and you can ignore this post. :)