There is a fantasy, a black-and-white screen cliché that love looks like the mad, romantic dash through airports for a last chance at a flailing kiss. And then the credits roll. And the lights come on. And we must go back to our real lives where we forget that love really lives.
Just between us - I have a feeling that my luck might be in tonight! Sexytime.I'm a man of the world, I can read the signs, so I thought I'd make the effort. Nothing particularly flashy, just a bit of well-earned pre-sex grooming.
I chose to see him as a hot piece of tail. He's got a magnificent chest. He smells good. He has shapely legs and soft lips. I vowed to be more appreciative and remember what drew me to him in the first place.
The recipe -- and the myth surrounding it -- conjures images of a culinarily satisfied man licking his fingers with a mixture of glee and awe while silently promising himself that he will never let you, maker of awesome chicken, get away by bestowing a ring soon after.