This is love.

I left work a ball of rage and frustration. It was one of those days when you decide that what you really want to do is something that requires minimal thinking and creativity. Something that doesn’t tax your already strained nerves. Like being a guard at the Metropolitan Museum, or a barista at Starbucks, or the person who sweeps up the hair at a salon.

All day long, I thought evil thoughts. I thought about terrible things I could do and say, about appalling, irresponsible, impulsive acts. Something involving firebombing and gluing giant black dildos to desks and throwing balloons filled with cat urine. I called Fauxhawk, who told me to cool it in his very calm, rational way.

“BUT I’VE HAD IT!” I screamed. “I’M WALKING OUT AND NEVER COMING BACK!” Somehow, it always feels better to say the things you can’t imagine actually doing.

“Just come home,” he said.

And when I arrived, there was a fire in the fireplace. The house was tidy, the groceries were bought, and the Dutch Oven of Denial and Dread (containing five week-old soup and mysterious life forms) was clean. Another Soul-Destroying Shelf of Doom from IKEA had been installed in the bathroom.

Someone very, very good had done these things just to please me. Someone knew that I needed to come home to something rational and serene. Someone understood that I needed a break. Without even being told.



My friend Elly, who is very wise, read somewhere that love is not about democracy - it’s about mercy.

Small acts of kindness.
Generosity of spirit.
And a big, stiff drink waiting at the door.

This is love.


P.S. Fauxhawk, you are the BEST BOY IN ALL THE WORLDZ. I’m sayin’ it straight since you like to see your name in print.



Photos via Abby Powell. See more of her lovely work here.