Love is...

Remember those stupid little cartoons with the naked cherubs? Those little one-frame scenes that are clipped out and hung on refrigerators by women who are delighted to discover that picking up toenail clippings after their slovenly husbands isn't gross, it's actually love?

I cringe to think what one of those would have to portray to apply to my relationship. We were watching TV last night, and this female character had just had her heart utterly broken and ripped out of her chest. She was so torn to shreds that she actually started throwing up.

Kriston watched this all very seriously and intently, brows furrowed. He turned to me and said, with great concern over the implications of my answer and the depth of my affection, "If I broke up with you, would you puke?"

And how can I leave my man dangling with such uncertainty and unease? I am happy to comply.

"Yes, I would. I would puke everywhere, honey."