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The Book of Love

The Book of Love

You know the Elvis Costello song, Everyday I Write the Book?

I could listen to that song every minute of every day and never get bored.

Even if I can’t quite make out his words, there is something about that song that gets under my skin and I think it has everything to do with his…glasses.

You know what I’m a talking about: those big, black clunkers that take over his face with all the subtlety of a jet bomber.

Fortunately for me, those glasses are in vogue now. What a gift from the heavens!

Especially during my (ahem!) dating sabbatical, when I have zero male interaction, at least this way I can feast mein eyes upon the sum total of all earthly cuteness encapsulated in one black-framed package.

I mean, the guy could be 300 pounds, with dirty, wild hair, wearing a ripped Morris the Cat t-shirt and smelling like he hadn’t had a decent bath since Madonna and Sean Penn were an item and still, I would marry him on the spot!

I don’t even care if the glasses are the only thing “smart” about the fellow, if you know what I mean. (And I think that you do.) His head could be full of a rippling pond in which giant goldfish swim and frolic, and still, one look at the clunkers on his little punim and I’m putty in his hands.

Sad? Pathetic? Wondering why I am in charge of my own love life seeing as I am not really equipped for the job? Me too!

Which reminds me. A while ago, before my dating sabbatical, of course, I was on Jdate checking out the men in England. Because, in addition to men in a particular pair of glasses, I also happen to like Englishmen. So wry! So snarky! So repressed!

And you won’t believe this but I found exactly what the doctor ordered. Dark-haired, wearing the glasses that make my heart go pitter-pat, his head bowed over a book. And his photo caption read: “Everyday I write the book.”

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