I'll Have To Admit, He Really Does

Why Didn't I Buy A New Phone Earlier? Why Don't I Always Walk Around With A Spare Phone? It Should Be The Law, Like Having A Spare Tire.

Except...i Do. Of Course I Do. Because As His Hands Gently Cup My Waist, I Don't Make A Sound. As He Swivels Me Around To Face Him, I Don't Make A Sound. I Don't Need To. We're Still Talking. Every Touch He Makes, Every Imprint Of His Skin Is Like Another Word, Another Thought, A Continuation Of Our Conversation. And We're Not Done Yet. Not Yet.

You're So Narrow-minded! You Live In The Same Village You Grew Up In, You Run The Family Business, You're Buying A Nursery Down The Road... You're Practically Still In The Womb. So Before You Lecture Me On The Way To Live My Life, Try Living One Of Your Own, Ok?

I'm Never Going To Believe A Poirot Mystery Again. Never. All Those Witnesses Going, "yes, I Remember It Was 3:06 P.m. Exactly, Because I Glanced At The Clock As I Reached For The Sugar Tongs, And Lady Favisham Was Quite Clearly Sitting On The Right-hand Side Of The Fireplace." Bollocks. They Have No Idea Where Lady Favisham Was, They Just Don't Want To Admit It In Front Of Poirot. I'm Amazed He Gets Anywhere.

Mind Your Own Brazilian!" The Words Fly Out Of My Mouth Before I Can Stop Them. Oops. Ok. The Trick When You've Said Something Embarrassing By Mistake Is Not To Overreact. Instead, Keep Your Chin Up And Pretend Nothing Happened.