Rule Of Life. If You

Except...i Do. Of Course I Do. Because As His Hands Gently Cup My Waist, I Don't Make A Sound. As He Swivels Me Around To Face Him, I Don't Make A Sound. I Don't Need To. We're Still Talking. Every Touch He Makes, Every Imprint Of His Skin Is Like Another Word, Another Thought, A Continuation Of Our Conversation. And We're Not Done Yet. Not Yet.

There Are Some Things I Don't Understand About Jess And Never Will. No Wedding Dress. No Flowers. No Photo Album. No Champagne. The Only Thing She Got Out Of Her Wedding Was A Husband. (i Mean, Obviously The Husband Is The Main Point When You Get Married. Absolutely. That Goes Without Saying. But Still, Not Even A New Pair Of Shoes?)

Relationships Are A Battle. They Are A Chess Game. And What Did I Do? I Just Threw All My Chess Pieces Down On The Board At Once, And Said, "here! Have Them All!

I'm Never Going To Believe A Poirot Mystery Again. Never. All Those Witnesses Going, "yes, I Remember It Was 3:06 P.m. Exactly, Because I Glanced At The Clock As I Reached For The Sugar Tongs, And Lady Favisham Was Quite Clearly Sitting On The Right-hand Side Of The Fireplace." Bollocks. They Have No Idea Where Lady Favisham Was, They Just Don't Want To Admit It In Front Of Poirot. I'm Amazed He Gets Anywhere.

Shopping Is Actually Very Similar To Farming A Field. You Can't Keep Buying The Same Thing, You Have To Have A Bit Of Variety. Otherwise You Get Bored And Stop Enjoying Yourself.