I Rang My Mother To Thank Her

Political Correctness Is A Minefield

So I'm Back Again To The Eternal Question, The One That Has Plagued Me All My Life: How Do Other People Do It? How Come They Were Given Life's Rule Book And I Missed Out? Where Was I When God Was Dispensing Capability And Cop On? Looking At Shoes, Probably.

Some Think Love Can Be Measured By The Amount Of Butterflies In Their Tummy. Others Think Love Can Be Measured In Bunches Of Flowers, Or By Using The Words 'for Ever.' But Love Can Only Truly Be Measured By Actions. It Can Be A Small Thing, Such As Peeling An Orange For A Person You Love Because You Know They Don't Like Doing It.

They Say The Path Of True Love Never Runs Smooth. Well, Luke And My True Love's Path Didn't Run At All, It Limped Along In New Boots That Were Chafing Its Heels. Blistered And Cut, Red And Raw, Every Hopping, Lopsided Step, A Little Slice Of Agony.

I Loved Being In My Own Head So Much, It Was Getting Harder And Harder Being With Other People.