Let me preface this by saying, I love love—love it!
It’s my favorite thing in the world.
I’ve been with the same man for nearly half my life, and it’s been pretty amazing. I could gush for days about all the wonderful, adorable, inspiring things about love. But I’m a realist, and honestly, love can be kind of gross.
Love is gentle. Love is kind. Love is not strangling your spouse when they’ve left their used Q-tips on the bathroom counter for the umpteenth time after you’ve politely asked them not to approximately umpteen plus ten times.
Love does not envy. It does not boast. It is not proud, especially when you’re spooning and a silent-but-deadly sneaks out before you realize it and your partner asks, “Did you just fart on me?” They know the answer is yes—even before you can respond in all your surprise-flatulence shame—but they don’t move. Because cuddling is more important than a few minutes of the back end of a juice cleanse.
Love does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
I’m pretty sure that whoever wrote Corinthians never had to fight over whose in-laws they were spending the holidays with.
Love is saying, “If I have to deal with your pervy uncle staring down my cleavage while he licks cranberry sauce off his spoon one more time you’re getting divorce papers for Christmas.”
They probably also never stayed up until three in the morning fighting over which is worse: dirty socks on the living room floor or hair left in the bathtub drain.
Love is keeping a bottle of vodka and a first aid kit handy, because sometimes your spouse comes home bloody and in need of stitches and, when you find out what happened, you need a stiff drink. Straight from the bottle. So that you don’t slap them on the side that’s covered in road rash when you find out they did 140 mph on their motorcycle.
Love is a many splendored thing, but love is messy. No one tells you love and marriage means knowing that the person whose shit you think doesn’t stink, actually really, really stinks.
Especially after that massive burrito.
Love elephant and want to go steady?
Apprentice Editor: Guenevere Neufeld / Editor: Emily Bartran
Photo: Flickr / 1950sUnlimited