Instalment Eighty


“I love you because you make me so happy,”(emphasis added, mine)

You make me happy. People say this all the time, especially during weddings. It’s the most selfish thing I can think of. It’s all about the person saying it. They like being made happy. Selfish. It’s no surprise though. I used to know Love, not a nice man, not at all. Love was always talking about himself in the most florid, over the top terms. And God forbid you were not as happy as him, wouldn’t he let you know what you were doing wrong and how you could be as happy as him, if only you tried a bit harder, got out more, smiled. I wrote a letter of complaint once, to the daily paper, The Corinthian:

Love is impetuous, love is cruel. Love does envy and Love does boast. Love is proud. He dishonours others and is self-thinking. Love is easily angered and keeps a full record of wrongs.  Love does not necessarily delight in evil but does rejoice and crow of his own good fortune. Love always protects Love, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres to look after himself.


But they changed it before printing.

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