What do you do for love? What do you do for yourself? In the end, is there really any difference?
I’ll never forget telling my husband’s grandmother, in December 2007, that we had finally set a wedding date. Her face lit up until we said “September 2009”, at which point she curled her fingers, her perfectly-manicured nails gripping an invisible wall, and said, “Well, I hope I’m still alive! I’ll hold on by my fingertips!” (She held on, and she’s still alive and well.)
My husband showed me that Love Don’t Cost a Thing.
“My favorite Brad Paisley song came on, and it made me want to come touch you one more time. I figured I could still catch you.”
“What song, the one about the ticks?” I asked. “Eric! There are two kids in the car, and this is a public road, you know.”