It’s like… okay:

So when my brother was very young my parents would give him crushed up ice-chips and tell him it was ice-cream, while they had their sundaes or whatever.  I’m actually not sure why. Cheapskateism? Sadism? Health concerns?

“Ice-cream!  Get ice-cream!” He loved that crap.  Didn’t know the difference.  Until one day an uncle or grandmother or someone gave him REAL ice-cream.  And the jig was up.

Now he’s never said he was mad about this.  I guess he just devoured the ice-cream with confusion?  Or unbridled joy?  Obviously he would never be satisfied with crushed up ice again.

Anyways what I’m trying to say is it’s been 21 years of ice-chips before I met you.

I can’t explain to anyone why I’m still with you through all this.  People think you were just my first longterm/serious relationship, and now I’m  trapped in that.  There is something you have that I can’t label.  Something you have that other people just don’t.  Almost no one.

And okay it’s gonna be hard.  Explaining to my entire extended family that you aren’t a Christian, (cue the horrified glances when I’m looking the other way) and that yes, I intend to kick it on the daily, forever, with you.

But I can’t imagine it won’t be worth it.

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Italian music