True romance is never easy.
If you could spend a few hours rewinding my life (not that you would ever want to), you could chomp away on your bucket of buttery popcorn and tilt back your box of Goobers until the cardboard edge became damp with your lip puckers, and you could watch me make a perfect mess of a lot of romance. You could laugh and frown at me ruining more things heartfelt and lovely than you would probably ever be able to stomach.
Over the course of my love affairs scattered across the last two decades, I have managed to screw up (amongst other things): picnics in the park, late Sunday mornings in bed, walks down streets in a bevvy of world-class cities on several continents, impossibly sensual outdoor kisses, train ride cuddles, motel room snuggles, Christmas Eves, Christmas mornings, tender moments eating ice cream on benches, dinners in dimly-lit restaurants… Okay, I've pretty much screwed it all up at one point or another.
But why, you might ask?
What is so hard or tough orRead More »from A Hopeless Romantic: One Husband's Guide to Keeping the Love Alive Every Day