It occurred to me the other night, just as I was trying to drift off to sleep, that an awful lot of men have told me “I love you”. A nice round dozen in fact, and five just since 9/11 (the modern equivalent of what were you doing when Kennedy was shot?).
How is it possible that, despite five generally acceptable mature men uttering those words with absolute sincerity in the last 13 years, I live with two parakeets?