The other day, while having dinner with my 2-year-old son at a '50s-themed diner, I noticed an older couple sitting nearby while I cut up my son's chicken fingers. My son was clanking his spoon on his plate and la-la-la'ing, but I hardly heard the noise. The man had a tie on and the woman was wearing very Pink lipstick. Both of their hands shook.
"Mirabelle," the older gentleman said. "You've got mayonnaise on your shirt." 5 Reasons To Grow Old With Someone
"What?" the woman said. She looked confused. She started fumbling for something in her purse. She handed the man a silver compact and said, "Lizzy was coming down from the bedroom to get it." She was certain of this; she even looked over her shoulder. Her eyes squinted in the direction of the counter where two men in work boots were drinking root beer. My son dropped his spoon on the floor.
"There, there, Belle," he said, as he dabbed his napkin with his tongue, moistening it, then cleaning her shirt. "Eat your fish," he said as he cut up her broccoli.
"OK," the woman said. The man looked tired, but he also looked in love and content. It was as though I was watching this all happen in black and white, some great romantic movie where lovers die in a bed together.
What is romance?
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