I love you.
You remember how it was plain awful to admit that when we were younger? Yesterday, I got to hang out with a bunch of little boys (more like I was stuck with the little shits) and one of them whispered it to the other who then screamed like he had just come to an understanding of what life’s like after graduating university with a degree in microbiology.
Then the mom, in mock shock, went “don’t you love your brother?”
And he replied “no.”
Then they started an argument about the biggest number. The little one said it was 1,023. The bigger one said “how about 1,024?”
Then the little one got this look that teenage boys get when they discover girls.
I don’t think he meant it in a malicious way, considering that they had been talking about girls in each other’s class and they had been going you like this girl… you love that girl blah blah. But being a little shit, you never know.
So, silly question: why is it painfully awkward to admit we love?
Nah. Wrong question. The number of times I’ve seen people ANNOUNCE that they love themselves on Instagram, please kill me.
Why do we find it hard to admit we love one another?
**reclines in my high chair, shifts glasses to the bridge of my nose, sighs deeply (I know a sigh is supposed to be deep. That’s not the point.)**
It might be cognitive dissonance. We know we should but we’re assholes to one another, it’s difficult to profess love and be a jerk and half, which seems to be our default position.
However, professing love and being an ass aren’t mutually exclusive. I mean, just look at all the girls I wanted to go out with and the guys they end up with.
I am veering dangerously off point here and I have no intention of getting back on track. I shall now go cry myself to sleep.
Have a good one everyone.
I love you.