He takes a box out of his pocket and sets it on the table. A small box. A box for jewelry. I love jewelry, I love gifts, I love small surprises men carry home for you. I love looking in his face as he looks at me bouncing in my chair because there is a jewelry box in front of me. That perfect face only clouds over for a moment, when he considers my glee might arise from a belief that the box contains something rather more Significant than a mere piece of jewelry. It doesn't. This is just my "I have a jewelry box from the most handsome man in town" face. I love this moment so much I almost don't want to open the box, because then the box ceases to be important and becomes extraneous. But of course I do open it, because a jewelry box is irresistible. And inside is a bubbly lustrous pair of "I love yous" to frame my face. He thought they looked like me. He was right.
Thank you, Michael, for the smorgasbord of delight.
Thank you, Michael, for the smorgasbord of delight.
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