According to Bette Midler, some say love is a river, others say it is a razor; she personally thinks it’s a flower.
I disagree. I say love is like cheese. It ripens with time. But left alone, it hardens and dries out.
It comes in many shapes, sizes and colors.
It can be holey, kosher, and sometimes downright sinful.
It can also come with many, many strings.
It is often covered by a rind hard as diamonds. But underneath, it is pure softy.
Its very flaws make it interesting. But it also stinks.
It is easy to cut into pieces. And it is equally easy to melt.
Italians love it. (And so do the French.)
It goes down well with a large slice of ham between slabs of dough, and it goes down better with a bottle of wine. But come to think of it, it goes well with anything, any time, any day.
QED. Love is like cheese.
So now it’s time for a mad lib party. Fill in the blank: Love is like _________________.
- Jean AAR
It seems that many of today’s lifestyle tips concern a newly rediscovered thrift; a quick glance at the newsstand confirms this. 10 Ways to Save on Household Products bleats one magazine’s subhead. Five Local Vacation Hotspots! blasts the travel section. (Or my favourite from a few months ago: an article quoted Bill Clinton that he now helps the environment by turning off the tap while brushing his teeth. Thanks, Mr. President.)
I gloat that when it comes to leisure pastimes since I’ve always been a pennysaver – or as my friends say, a damn cheapskate. When I read a newly published novel, 99.9% of the time I’ve borrowed it from the library and I can count on one hand the number of times I shelled out money instead of borrowing for free. My rule – no, law – was never to pay full price for a new book unless it was a gift and, since I shopped at used bookstores anyway, I never spent more than $10 a book. Mass market paperbacks? Not a penny above five bucks. Ever.