Love

It was waiting for me just inside the door when I came home this evening. A cardboard box, three feet by two feet by one, weighed at least twenty pounds. My wedding present from my soon-to-be-wife. I lugged it upstairs, cut away the box around it to discover the other box inside, and gaped with awe and wonder. It was a glorious thing, truly. I dug inside and came up with the instruction manual, a weighty tome that clocked in at an two-hundred-and-thirty pages. Over the years of my life, I'd seen a lot of instruction manuals of this sort, minor staple-bound incidentals, pamphlets at best, which resembled the wire-bound sheath I held in my lap as the little black-and-white comics Jehovah Witnesses give out resemble the King James Bible.

I reveled. Reveled, I tell you. And that was just at the instruction manual.

This is not why I love my soon-to-be wife. This is one of many, many reasons, which at some point, for some occasion, I will do my best to document and detail as thoroughly as the two-hundred-and-thirty page manual details the construction of the best wedding present ever ever ever.