When you’re 16 and (ridiculous), being in love is about newness and sweet surprise, thinking you have to be together … and touching … and insane 24 hours of everyday, and making out.  10 years later, things are different (though I’m still a pretty huge fan of making out … shhh, don’t tell my mother).  Love is sitting around in your pajamas with the office door closed reading trashy stories on the internet while That Boy meticulously vacuums the living room.  Love is getting excited as you strain to hear what you think might be the swishes and swirls of him cleaning the nearest bathroom.  Love is him walking through the door in new, perfectly fitting, dark blue distressed jeans and asking how they fit (while you melt and try to banish the non-G rated thoughts from your 3 in the afternoon brain).

Love at 26 is not the same as 16.  Well, it might be, if it were new.  Perhaps I should say, love after 10 years is not the same as after 10 minutes … or 10 days … or 10 months.  It’s simpler.  It’s calmer.  It’s a little less tear your clothes off in a dark parking lot or the nearest available broom closet and more thanks for saying you love me by changing my spark plugs.  It’s familiar.  It’s perfect.

Now, enough of this vomit inducing lovefest.  As you were.