Tag Your Love Quotes

As a child there's a horror in discovering the limitations of the ones you love. The time you find that your mother cannot keep you safe, that your tutor makes a mistake, that the wrong path must be taken because the grown-ups lack the strength to take the right one...each of those moments is the theft of your childhood, each of them a blow that kills some part of the child you were, leaving another part of the man exposed, a new creature, tougher but tempered with bitterness and disappointment.

She put a hand up to her scars, whispering, "Your love comes with a heavy price tag.

But it wasn’t. Sex is not the most intimate thing two lovers can do. Even when the sex is beautiful. Even when it’s perfect.” Millie drew a deep breath as if she remembered how perfect it had truly been. “The most intimate thing we can do is to allow the people we love most to see us at our worst. At our lowest. At our weakest. True intimacy happens when nothing is perfect. And I don’t think you’re ready to be intimate with me, David.

You cannot control the way people treat you, but you can control how you feel about the way they treat you. Simply put, you cannot choose people's actions but you can decide your reactions.

We play phone tag, back and forth, the kind of tag where it's clear we're avoiding each other, where no one wants to be touched, tagged, you're it

This thing we have, it hurts, he continued. But the pain is almost sweet because it means YOU happened. We happened. And I can't regret that, no matter how little or how long I get to tag along with you and pretend that I don't hate having people recognize me or take pictures or having people whisper about my record-- " Your record?" " My criminal record, Bonnie, Nothing platinum there. I'm an ex-con, and starting over and building a new life where I can put it behind me, I'm building a new life where it will never be behind me, and for you, its worth it. It's easy math.

YOU have to design your own Price tag for the world.

Your love is like star sky showers and magenta unicorns.

Everyone has a price”, as they say. So let the price on your tag say “PRICELESS” “INVALUABLE” “IRREPLACEABLE”.

If we loved children, we would have a few. If we had them, we would want them as children, and would love the wonder with which they behold the world, and would hope some of it might open our eyes a little. We would love their games, and would want to play them once in a while, stirring in ourselves those memories of play that no one regrets, and that are almost the only things an old man can look back on with complete satisfaction. We would want children tagging along after us, or if not, then only because we would understand that they had better things to do.

I will do everything I can to be the man that you want, the man that the seven-year-old you used to dream about. I will bring you flowers, I’ll take care of you when you’re sick, I’ll give you space when you need it and I’ll never leave your side when you want someone there. I want to be better than I am because of you, Paisley.

You really are a pain in the ass,” he laughs. I swat him playfully, laughing too as a single tear rolls down my cheek. He wipes it away and tucks my hair behind my ear, “But you’re my pain in the ass.

Like all canned food, love has an expiration date, a price tag, and a warning label. In order to love, you need to check the price tag to see if you have enough money in your wallet, observe the warnings given in fine print, and finish matters before the expiration date. Only then is it a smooth process for everyone.

Don't you love me?' 'I might if I could find you. But where are you? If one stripped you of your exhibitionism, if one took your technique away from you, if one peeled you as one peels an onion of skin after skin of pretence and insincerity, of tags of old parts and shreds of faked emotions, would one come upon a soul at last?

There was a moment of sorrow, disappointment, and deep love for his son, whom he at that second wished had had a chance of real escape. Never mind why or whether or who or what consequence or ramification--the wake of sorrow and bitterness and resentment you would trail behind you, probably mostly for me--I just wish that you had made it beyond the bounds of this cold little radius, that when the archaeologists brush off this layer of our world in a million years and string off the boundaries of our rooms and tag and number every plate and table leg and shinbone, you would not be there; yours would not be the remains they would find and label juvenile male.

You cannot protect yourself from all the things that could hurt you. I can pretty much guarantee that you will be hurt again and again. But, you have had horrible break-ups and you survived. Which is a good indicator that you can trust yourself to make it through another one. So, thank your fear for trying his best to take care of you. Tell him you appreciate that he exists, but that he is only one of your many advisers, not your master. Show your fear, every time he shows up, who is boss. Tell your fear that he is welcome to tag along, but to keep his voice down to the faintest of whispers. Listen to that (by now) nearly inaudible whisper saying "Don't love again! We will get hurt!" and shout back "I LIKE HER A LOT! I WANT TO LIKE HER SOME MORE!" and then let your heart set the pace for how quickly you move into loving her. If the choice is fear or love, chose love. Make this choice again and again and again.

Respect the verbs in your life. Life is a verb. Live is a verb. Live Life. Action verbs bring life to writing. Love is a verb. Be is a verb. Be in Love Believe, love, give, receive,tag, Believing in love, giving love, receiving love, love tag(you are it) dance, prance, pounce, smile, try, trying to smile, dancing and prancing, pounce! laugh, do, go, grow, feel, touch, touching, feeling, growing, doing, going, laughing, sing, walk, run, cook, look, see, eat, meet, greet, smell, hear, look and see the cooking, singing and then walking into the kitchen to eat, eating the yummy food. running to see, seeing the food, meeting and greeting others; smelling the cooking, hearing the laughter; seeing the runners; touching the icing. licking the icing. tasting the licking of the spoon discover, realize, live, respect. discover life, realizing truth, living, respecting everyone under the sun, even all the universe love and respect all

I've never been to the ocean, never heard the waves lick the sand in that quiet shushing you read about in books. I've never been to the zoo, smelled the elephant piss, and heard the cries of the monkeys. I've never had frozen yogurt from one of those places where you pull on the handle and fill your own cup with whatever you like. I've never eaten dinner at a restaurant with napkins that you set on your lap and silverware that isn't plastic. I've never painted my nails like the other girls at school, in bright neons and decadent reds. I've never been more than ten miles from home. Ten miles. It's like I live in the forever ago, not where buses rumble and trains have racks. I've never had a birthday cake, though I've wanted one very much. I've never owned a bra that is new, and had to cut the tags off with the scissors from the kitchen drawer. I've never been loved in a way that makes me feel as if I was supposed to be born, if only to feel loved. I've never, I've never, I've never. And it's my own fault. The things that we never do because someone makes us fearful of them, or makes us believe we don't deserve them. I want to do all my nevers-- alone or with someone who matters. I don't care. I just want to live.

Advising the average person to not concern herself with calories but instead to pay attention to hunger triggers and eating foods rick in nutrients--well, it's a wonderful concept. I also love the thought of unicorns jumping over cotton candy rainbows. I'm even considering taking up basketball to see if it makes me taller. Come on already! Suggesting that someone who struggles with his weight does not need to think about calories is as risky as suggesting you not look at price tags the next time you're in the market for a car.

One more item slipped out of the bag. It was the metal identification tag from Maureen's cremation, the one I had burned with her just a few weeks before. These tags say with the body through the whole cremation, and leave stuck in with the ashes, which is how sacks of cremated remains found in old storage lockers and attics can still be identified years later. The tag I found was identical (except for the ID number) to the one I was putting in with Matthew now. I imagined his hands sinking into the grey mulch of Maureen's bones and finding the tag. I imagined him pulling the tag out and brushing the dusty metal against his cheek. It was a bizarre honor to have been a part of their last private moment together, the last act of their love story. I cried (sobbed, if we're being honest) standing over Matthew's body, moments before it was loaded into the chamber. Even if all we love will die, I still ached for a love like theirs, to be adored so completely. Had not Disney guaranteed all of us such an ending?

Wrong Planet people will always be hated by certain Rag Tags who love to try and expose what is wrong with you because they simply can’t stand what is right with you. In addition, that jealousy eats up their beauty. That’s why they look the way they do. Rag Tags need to have more faith in themselves. Blowing out someone else’s candle will never make theirs shine any brighter. That’s why people dislike Fergie, because she’s a true Wrong Planet person. She’s fun and a bit too wild for the Royal Family, and she has a wicked side.

The truth is - people won't believe you, they won't care for you, they won't give you time or attention, but once you do something that is 'big' in their eyes, you will get it all. Then suddenly you become everyone's friend, everyone seems to have time for you. The people who ignored you earlier will tag you in their posts to gain publicity. And all of a sudden, you become the 'new' inspiration. But the ones who always support you will still call you by your pet name, tease you by those old names and will be there for you like before. The 'key' to life is - knowing who is permanent and who is temporary. The people who are with you in your struggle, are the people who deserve to eat a slice of your success, and the people who are there right after your success, are the ones who should be kept at a distance, for those people would be the first ones to run away if you are in any problem. This life is too short to be lived in any fake fame or publicity. Know your real friends, and know their worth, because if they're lost, the meaning of your life is lost...

By simply stating the truth, we open conversations about grief, which are really conversations about love. We start to love one another better. We begin to overhaul the falsely redemptive storyline that has us, as a culture and as individuals, insist that there's a happy ending everywhere if only we look hard enough. We stop blaming each other for our pain, and instead, work together to change what can be changed, and withstand what can't be fixed. We get more comfortable with hearing the truth, even when the truth breaks our hearts.

And you know what this means When I touch your lovely smile Oh, lovers are part of tag teams Coming together to weave dreams

Men take care of your responsibilities with maturity.

…If getting a man is entirely dependent on the digits showing on your tags, or your scale, then he is certainly not the right one for YOU, not the other way around.

Validate others. Most people you meet will not care about how much money you make or what kind of car you drive. Most people will care about how you treat them. If you make them feel heard and validated, that feeling will override anything of supposed importance that money can buy. People value your value of them, and there is no price tag on a friend who truly sees you and loves you for who you are.

I’m not sure how the ponies happened, though I have an inkling: “Can I get you anything?” I’ll say, getting up from a dinner table, “Coffee, tea, a pony?” People rarely laugh at this, especially if they’ve heard it before. “This party’s ‘sposed to be fun,” a friend will say. “Really? Will there be pony rides?” It’s a nervous tic and a cheap joke, cheapened further by the frequency with which I use it. For that same reason, it’s hard to weed it out of my speech – most of the time I don’t even realize I’m saying it. There are little elements in a person’s life, minor fibers that become unintentionally tangled with your personality. Sometimes it’s a patent phrase, sometimes it’s a perfume, sometimes it’s a wristwatch. For me, it is the constant referencing of ponies. I don’t even like ponies. If I made one of my throwaway equine requests and someone produced an actual pony, Juan-Valdez-style, I would run very fast in the other direction. During a few summers at camp, I rode a chronically dehydrated pony named Brandy who would jolt down without notice to lick the grass outside the corral and I would careen forward, my helmet tipping to cover my eyes. I do, however, like ponies on the abstract. Who doesn’t? It’s like those movies with the animated insects. Sure, the baby cockroach seems cute with CGI eyelashes, but how would you feel about fifty of her real-life counterparts living in your oven? And that’s precisely the manner in which the ponies clomped their way into my regular speech: abstractly. “I have something for you,” a guy will say on our first date. “Is it a pony?” No. It’s usually a movie ticket or his cell phone number. But on our second date, if I ask again, I’m pretty sure I’m getting a pony. And thus the Pony drawer came to be. It’s uncomfortable to admit, but almost every guy I have ever dated has unwittingly made a contribution to the stable. The retro pony from the ‘50s was from the most thoughtful guy I have ever known. The one with the glitter horseshoes was from a boy who would later turn out to be straight somehow, not gay. The one with the rainbow haunches was from a librarian, whom I broke up with because I felt the chemistry just wasn’t right, and the one with the price tag stuck on the back was given to me by a narcissist who was so impressed with his gift he forgot to remover the sticker. Each one of them marks the beginning of a new relationship. I don’t mean to hint. It’s not a hint, actually, it’s a flat out demand: I. Want. A. Pony. I think what happens is that young relationships are eager to build up a romantic repertoire of private jokes, especially in the city where there’s not always a great “how we met” story behind every great love affair. People meet at bars, through mutual friends, on dating sites, or because they work in the same industry. Just once a coworker of mine, asked me out between two stops on the N train. We were holding the same pole and he said, “I know this sounds completely insane, bean sprout, but would you like to go to a very public place with me and have a drink or something...?” I looked into his seemingly non-psycho-killing, rent-paying, Sunday Times-subscribing eyes and said, “Sure, why the hell not?” He never bought me a pony. But he didn’t have to, if you know what I mean.

The old man raised both hands, palms toward her. “No, miss, don’t you give it a second thought. The kind of ‘present’ I have in mind is not something tangible, not something with a price tag. To put it simply”—he placed his hands on the desk and took one long, slow breath—”what I would like to do for a lovely young fairy such as you is to grant a wish you might have, to make your wish come true. Anything. Anything at all that you wish for—assuming that you do have such a wish.

Wilson called those forces the biophilia hypothesis, which literally means “love of living things” but translates more closely to “Your brain may not remember, but your body will never forget that animals have guarded us since the Stone Age.” Why

Tatiana liked the notion of the dress, she liked the feeling of the cotton against her skin and the stitched roses under her fingers, but she did not like the feeling of her exploding body trapped inside the lung-squeezing material. What she enjoyed was the memory of her skinny-as-a-stick fourteen-year-old self putting on that dress for the first time and going out for a Sunday walk on Nevsky. It was for that feeling that she had put on the dress again this Sunday, the day Germany invaded the Soviet Union. On another level, on a conscious, loudly-audible-to-the-soul level, what Tatiana also loved about the dress was a small tag that said FABRIQUÉ EN FRANCE. Fabriqué en France! It was gratifying to own a piece of anything not made badly by the Soviets, but instead made well and romantically by the French; for who was more romantic than the French? The French were masters of love. All nations were different. The Russians were unparalleled in their suffering, the English in their reserve, the Americans in their love of life, the Italians in their love of Christ, and the French in their hope of love. So when they made the dress for Tatiana, they made it full of promise. They made it as if to tell her, put it on, chérie, and in this dress you, too, shall be loved as we have loved; put it on and love shall be yours. And so Tatiana never despaired in her white dress with red roses. Had the Americans made it, she would have been happy. Had the Italians made it, she would have started praying, had the British made it, she would have squared her shoulders, but because the French had made it, she never lost hope. Though at the

You know,” she said, and from her tone he knew something was coming, “I used to wonder how come you never brought any trouts home. Always said you caught plenty. So one time I got your creel case open the night before you went on one a your little trips—price tag still on it after five years—and I tied a note on the end of the line. It said, ‘Hello, Ennis, bring some fish home, love, Alma.’ And then you come back and said you’d caught a bunch a browns and ate them up. Remember? I looked in the case when I got a chance and there was my note still tied there and that line hadn’t touched water in its life.” As though the word “water” had called out its domestic cousin, she twisted the faucet, sluiced the plates.

It's not like you ate Filipino food all the time. You loved Emperor's Way takeout, and the friendly Chinese girl there who you were too shy to ask but whose name tag said to call her Ming always gave you extra sauce for your orange chicken. The sweet potato pie from Butter was absolutely to die for, and it made you feel soft and warm the same way Lola's leche flan did. The youngest Manzano once handed you a delicious pastry without prompting or demanding payment before drifting away, seemingly lost in a world of her own. If this was a marketing strategy for their pastelería, it worked. But you could tell that there were differences in the way they cooked and baked, that they took old and treasured recipes and put in their own unique, modern spin to them. Why couldn't you do the same?

Cassie, if I do treatment, I’m most likely going to be too sick to want to do any of those things. It may only prolong my life for a short time. And leaving my parents with an enormous amount of debt because of medical bills is not what I want. How can I do that to them?” “They love you, Xuan. There’s no price tag on your life.” “What would you do if you were me?” “I would fight!” I shouted. “I’ve been trying to accept my fate, and I think you need to as well.

He followed me into my fucking bathroom.” Kai turned to his brother. “I’m sorry. You’re going to have to find a new best friend.” Big Tag had a private bathroom. He took that shit seriously. “Do you understand what it means to be the only man in the fucking house? My kids don’t care about privacy. My wife thinks intimacy means I shouldn’t be able to spend an hour alone in the bathroom. I like my personal time, motherfucker. The only time I get it is here. Have you ever had to take a piss with not one but two babies in your arms?

If we loved children, we would have a few. If we had them, we would want them as children, and would love the wonder with which they behold the world, and would hope that some of it might open our own eyes a little. We would love their games, and would want to play them once in a while, stirring in ourselves those memories of play that no one regrets, and that are almost the only things an old man can look back on with complete satisfaction. We would want children tagging along after us, or if not, then only because we would understand that they had better things to do.

AUTUMN WAS COMING; the evergreens might not have noticed, but the sycamores did. They flashed thousands of golden leaves across slate-gray skies. Late one afternoon, after the lesson, Tate lingering when he should have left, he and Kya sat on a log in the woods. She finally asked the question she’d wanted to ask for months. “Tate, I appreciate your teaching me to read and all those things you gave me. But why’d you do it? Don’t you have a girlfriend or somebody like that?” “Nah—well, sometimes I do. I had one, but not now. I like being out here in the quiet and I like the way you’re so interested in the marsh, Kya. Most people don’t pay it any attention except to fish. They think it’s wasteland that should be drained and developed. People don’t understand that most sea creatures—including the very ones they eat—need the marsh.” He didn’t mention how he felt sorry for her being alone, that he knew how the kids had treated her for years; how the villagers called her the Marsh Girl and made up stories about her. Sneaking out to her shack, running through the dark and tagging it, had become a regular tradition, an initiation for boys becoming men. What did that say about men? Some of them were already making bets about who would be the first to get her cherry. Things that infuriated and worried him. But that wasn’t the main reason he’d left feathers for Kya in the forest, or why he kept coming to see her. The other words Tate didn’t say were his feelings for her that seemed tangled up between the sweet love for a lost sister and the fiery love for a girl. He couldn’t come close to sorting it out himself, but he’d never been hit by a stronger wave. A power of emotions as painful as pleasurable.

The beautiful you is not the color of your skin Or the texture of your hair. The beautiful you is not how tall or short you are The beautiful you is not rather you’re skinny or overweight by society standards The beautiful you is not the degrees you have obtain Or the size of your bank accounts. The beautiful you, has nothing to do with where you’re from, or religious beliefs Nor the car you drive or the house you live in. The beautiful you is not the price tag of what you wear The beautiful you has nothing do with how eloquent you speak The beautiful you is your kindness and compassion toward others The beautiful you is your tolerance and patience The beautiful you is your ability to love and forgive The beautiful you don’t rush to judge what you don’t understand The beautiful you is always seeking to evolve into its higher self That is the beautiful you and that is what the world needs The beautiful you is what defines our Humanity The Beautiful you, Be that Always!

Did It Ever Occur to You That Maybe You’re Falling in Love? BY AILISH HOPPER We buried the problem. We planted a tree over the problem. We regretted our actions toward the problem. We declined to comment on the problem. We carved a memorial to the problem, dedicated it. Forgot our handkerchief. We removed all “unnatural” ingredients, handcrafted a locally-grown tincture for the problem. But nobody bought it. We freshly-laundered, bleached, deodorized the problem. We built a wall around the problem, tagged it with pictures of children, birds in trees. We renamed the problem, and denounced those who used the old name. We wrote a law for the problem, but it died in committee. We drove the problem out with loud noises from homemade instruments. We marched, leafleted, sang hymns, linked arms with the problem, got dragged to jail, got spat on by the problem and let out. We elected an official who Finally Gets the problem. … We watched carefully for the problem, but our flashlight died. We had dreams of the problem. In which we could no longer recognize ourselves. We reformed. We transformed. Turned over a new leaf. Turned a corner, found ourselves near a scent that somehow reminded us of the problem, In ways we could never Put into words. That Little I-can’t-explain-it That makes it hard to think. That Rings like a siren inside.

For me, the biggest conflict with the surgery date was that it fell on the same day as Cole’s junior/senior formal at school. The formal had been a big night for Reed two years earlier, with the highlight being a special ring ceremony. Juniors receive their senior rings and ask two special people in their lives to turn the ring on their finger. Reed has asked me to be one of those two people for him, which was a special honor for me. If Cole wants me there, I will reschedule Mia’s surgery. “Cole, who are you planning on having turn your ring?” I asked. “I didn’t get a ring, Mom. I really don’t want one,” Cole replied. Seriously? I thought. Boy, are you your father’s son or what? “All I really care about is getting some really good pictures.” I knew Cole was telling me the truth. He is not about fanfare or rituals. But he did want to remember the night. “Absolutely! I’ll make sure we have plenty of pictures of you,” I exclaimed. As it turned out, I think he was the most photographed student that night. Since I could not be there in person, people texted, e-mailed, and tagged me on Facebook with pictures of him. Again, my friends and Cole’s friends’ parents did what they could to help us through this difficult time. Something as simple as taking pictures was priceless to me. Yes, Cole was completely fine with my not being at the formal, but he was also sad that he could not be at the hospital for Mia. I assured him that there’s never a good time for surgery, and he shouldn’t feel guilty about attending his event--all of us wanted him to go and have a great time.

On the phone a few nights later, Peter suddenly says, “You have me, don’t you?” “No!” I haven’t told him I took out John over the weekend. I don’t want him--or Genevieve, for that matter--to have any extra info. It’s down to the three of us now. “So you do have me!” He lets out a groan. “I don’t want to play this game anymore. It’s making me lonely and really…frustrated. I haven’t seen you outside of school for a week! When is this going to be over?” “Peter, I don’t have you. I have John.” I feel a little guilty for lying, but this is how winners play this game. You can’t second-guess yourself. There’s a silence on the other end. Then he says, “So are you going to drive over to his house to tag him out? He lives in the middle of nowhere. I could take you if you want.” “I haven’t figured out my game plan yet,” I say. “Who do you have?” I know it has to be me or Genevieve. He gets quiet. “I’m not saying.” “Well, have you told anyone else?” Like, say, Genevieve? “No.” Hmm. “Okay, well, I just told you, so you obviously owe me that same courtesy.” Peter bursts out, “I didn’t make you, you offered up that information yourself, and look, if it was a lie and you have me, please just freaking take me out already! I’m begging you. Come to my house right now, and I’ll let you sneak up to my room. I’ll be a sitting duck for you if it means I can see you again.” “No.” “No?” “No, I don’t want to win like that. When I get your name, I want to have the satisfaction of knowing I beat you fair and square. My first ever Assassins win can’t be tainted.” I pause. “And besides, your house is a safe zone.

Do you know what I remember?” I ask suddenly. “What?” “The time Trevor’s shorts split open when you guys were playing basketball. And everybody was laughing so hard that Trevor started getting mad. But not you. You got on your bike and you rode all the way home and brought Trevor a pair of shorts. I was really impressed by that.” He has a faint half smile on his face. “Thanks.” Then we’re both quiet and still dancing. He’s an easy person to be quiet with. “John?” “Hmm?” I look up at him. “I have to tell you something.” “What?” “I’ve got you. I mean, I have your name. In the game.” “Seriously?” John looks genuinely disappointed, which makes me feel guilty. “Seriously. Sorry.” I press my hands against his shoulders. “Tag.” “Well, now you have Kavinsky. I was really looking forward to taking him out, too. I had a whole plan and everything.” All eagerness I ask, “What was your plan?” “Why should I tell the girl who just tagged me out?” he challenges, but it’s a weak challenge, just for show, and we both know he’s going to tell me. I play along. “Come on, Johnny, I’m not just the girl who tagged you out. I’m your pen pal.” John laughs a little. “All right, all right. I’ll help you.” The song ends and we step apart. “Thanks for the dance,” I say. After all this time, I finally know what it’s like to dance with John Ambrose McClaren. “So what would you have asked for if you won?” He doesn’t hesitate even one beat. “Your peanut butter chocolate cake with my name written in Reese’s Pieces.” I stare at him in surprise. That’s what he would have wished for? He could have anything and he wants my cake? I give him a curtsy. “I’m so honored.” “Well, it was a really good cake,” he says.

Although in childhood the girl-child may have discovered her clitoris as a source of pleasure, she will enter adolescence convinced that the vagina is her only sexual organ. The vagina becomes the focus of sexual pleasure in a world that reduces sensuality to genital intercourse defined by the needs and desires of men. As a result, the girl-child’s erotic potential will be confined to an activity that requires a partner. An activity that guarantees physical satisfaction for the man. An activity that in and of itself does not guarantee her satisfaction. The very same parents who are “grossed out” by the masturbation of their pre-teen daughters breathe a sigh of relief when those same daughters move away from the clitoris and turn toward the vagina. Groomed to sexually service men, she will forget about her body’s capacity for sensual delight and satisfaction. Her original love of her body, curiosity about its sensations, and exploration of its nooks and crannies is twisted out of shape and labeled unacceptable. The price tags successfully reversed; she becomes dependent on others to meet her erotic needs. Many of our daughters stop touching themselves by adolescence and at the same time lose the affectionate touch of their parents. As they mature and grow out of the "cute stage," adults become uncomfortable with their developing bodies and most touching abruptly stops. The girl-child tries to make sense of this withdrawal of affection. She becomes convinced that something is wrong with her body—that her growing breasts and pubic hair, and the genital sensations she is experiencing make her untouchable to her parents. For some, the incestuous behavior of a parent or relative compounds this growing discomfort.

My Father mapped out the perfect blueprint for how to treat a woman. He caters hand and foot to my Mother. Even showers that love onto my sister. He never had to tell me how to treat my woman because his actions spoke louder. Did I cling to my woman? Absolutely. Being up under soft melanin skin pleased me. You want to read a book? Cool, what story we reading? Wanna go shopping? Take my card if you promise to model everything for me. Those females at work bothering you? Let’s get animated in the mirror and act like we about to tag team. Your period on? Baby, want me to rub your belly? You need me to get those diaper looking pads with the wings? How about some lemon ginger tea? What are your dreams? You want to sell weave? Let’s catch a flight to China or India and figure out how we can become wholesalers. You wanna make cute Snapchat filter videos? What filter do you want? Are they not liking your pics? Fine. I’ll blast you all over my page. Your Mother threatening to kick you out. Where you wanna move? Better yet, move in with me. Just focus on school and building your brand. I got everything else. You got finals coming up. Pick a tutor. Heck, can I pay for the answers to the quiz? You think those stretch marks make you unattractive? Come here and let me show you how much I appreciate your stripes of glitter. Do you want to go to Dr. Miami? Absolutely not. We going to the gym. Gym grown not silicone. We are working out together. Go ahead and hashtag us as #baegoals #coupleswhoworkouttogetherstaytogether. You want to switch the hair and get a tapered cut? Let me call my barber and see when we can go. Stressing and worrying? You keep hearing whispers while you’re sleeping? Nah bae, that’s not a ghost. That’s me praying for you.

Mostly Gaylord deals with insurance scamming. He takes a car off a lot and the insurance company pays.” “That’s still stealing.” “I guess, but it’s an insurance company, and everyone hates those people.” “I don’t hate them.” “Well, you’re weird,” Lula said. “Do you like the car?” “I love the car.” “There you go. And by the way, you might want to put a dab of concealer on your nose.” Kranski’s Bar was on the corner of Mayberry Street and Ash. This was a neighborhood very similar to the Burg, but the houses were a little larger, the cars were newer, the kitchen appliances were probably stainless. I parked in the small lot beside the tavern, and Lula and I sashayed into the dim interior. Bertie was working behind the bar that stretched across the back of the room. A bunch of high-top tables were scattered around the front of the room. Two women sat at one of the tables, eating nachos and drinking martinis. At one end of the bar four men were drinking beer and watching the overhead television. I spotted Kenny Morris at the other end. He was alone, nursing what looked like whiskey. Bertie caught my eye, tilted his head toward Kenny, and I nodded back. “I guess that’s the guy you’re looking for,” Lula said. “You want to tag-team him?” “No. I just want to talk to him. I’ll go it alone.” Lula hoisted herself onto a barstool by the four men, and I approached Kenny. “Anyone sitting here?” I asked him. “No,” he said. “No one ever sits there.” “Why not?” “The television is at the other end.” “But you’re here.” “Yeah, I’m not into the team television thing.” He looked a lot like his yearbook photograph. His hair was a little longer. He was slim. Medium height. Pleasant looking. Wearing jeans and a blue dress shirt with the top button open and the sleeves rolled. He was staring at my nose with an intensity usually displayed by dermatologists during a skin cancer exam. I couldn’t blame him. I’d smeared some makeup on it, but even in the dark bar it was emitting a red glow. “It’s a condition,” I said. “It comes and goes. It’s not contagious or anything. Do you come in here often?” “Couple times a week.

I tagged your ass the other night," I said, "while you were sleeping- and you liked it." "Really? I thought it was a dream." "It was. A WET one.

I no longer believed in the idea of soul mates, or love at first sight. But I was beginning to believe that a very few times in your life, if you were lucky, you might meet someone who was exactly right for you. Not because he was perfect, or because you were, but because your combined flaws were arranged in a way that allowed two separate beings to hinge together.” ― Lisa Kleypas, Blue-Eyed Devil tags: love, relationships, romance 6811 likes Like Liked! view quote Share on TwitterLikes the quote "I no longer believed in the idea of soul mates, or love at first sight. But I was beginning to believe that a very few times in your life, if you were lucky, you might meet someone who was exactly right for you. Not because he was perfect, or because you were, but because your combined flaws were arranged in a way that allowed two separate beings to hinge together." always post: reviews user statuses

The halo effect depends not on the ingredients themselves but on the eater, or more specifically, on the degree of control the eater has over his or her food. Before the 1800s, sugar itself separated rich from poor; now it is your state of mind while enjoying the sugar that separates the haves from the have-nots. For instance, Drewnowski’s absolute favorite dessert is a slice of coconut cream pie—not just any coconut cream pie, but the signature dessert by Seattle’s resident celebrity chef Tom Douglas. (“You have to share it,” he warns. “There’s a lot of sugar and cream in it, but it’s delicious.”) So he and his dinner companion savor the slice of pie, which happens to cost $8 (or the price of about two bags of Chips Ahoy! cookies). Nice sweets with a big price tag are meant to be appreciated like that. You eat a little at a time. Sensory-specific satiety, as we saw earlier, may compel you to eat more than you need, but chances are, if you’re making at least middle-class wages, you’re not wolfing it down to ease hunger. Nor are you eating sweets all the time. Sometimes you might have fruit; sometimes you might have a cappuccino. If you’re making at least middle-class wages, then you have the freedom and the money to decide how much to eat and when to eat it. That’s how even down-market foods can sometimes be elite in the right context. Lollipops at fashion shows and Coca-Cola-infused sauces in trendy restaurants aren’t demonized because the people who consume such items in those contexts have the power to choose something else entirely if they feel like it.

You will fall in love with someone who you will have to walk away from, because they don’t love you. You must accept the fact that they don’t have your best interests in mind. That’s a tough pill to swallow, but you must swallow it for you own the sake. You have nothing further to prove to them love yourself enough to grab your bootstraps pick yourself up and keep moving

Advika was given a chance at coaching to speak on any topic she wishes, as it was their fun day. As she was a good speaker she drafted a poem for people like her who too were in the same level game of life, dealing with the same hell, just different devils - “If you like wearing short clothes, wear it, If you like makeup, do it, If you like going to pubs, go for it, If you love pretending fake, pretend it, If you like drinking, smoking, just do it, But If I like traditional clothes, let me wear it, If I don’t put makeup, let me be that way, If I don’t go to pubs, don’t force me to come along, If I stay real and hate pretending fake, deal with it, If I don’t want to drink, smoke, then don’t tag me as old-fashioned. If I do not go with the trend just let me breathe in my comfort zone do not try to steal oxygen to make me die someday just because I do not fit in your space. Great ones usually do not fit it, so it is okay! Everybody is unique so what if I am antique.

Advika was given a chance at coaching to speak on any topic she wishes, as it was their fun day. As she was a good speaker she drafted a poem for people like her who too were in the same level game of life, dealing with the same hell, just different devils - “If you like wearing short clothes, wear it, If you like makeup, do it, If you like going to pubs, go for it, If you love pretending fake, pretend it, If you like drinking, smoking, just do it, But If I like traditional clothes, let me wear it, If I don’t put makeup, let me be that way, If I don’t go to pubs, don’t force me to come along, If I stay real and hate pretending fake, deal with it, If I don’t want to drink, smoke, then don’t tag me as old-fashioned. If I do not go with the trend just let me breathe in my comfort zone do not try to steal oxygen to make me die someday just because I do not fit in your space. Great ones usually do not fit it, so it is okay! Everybody is unique so what if I am antique.

Life is full of things we can't do anything about, but which we are supposed to do something with. 'He Himself endured a cross and thought nothing of its shame because of the joy.' A very different story from the one which would have been written if Jesus had been prompted by the spirit of our own age: 'Don't just endure the cross--think about it, talk about it, share it, express your gut-level feelings, get in touch with yourself, find out who you are, define the problem, analyze it, get counseling, get the experts' opinions, discuss solutions, work through it.' Jesus endured.

I will love you in my own way. I won’t always tell you I love you, but I will always try and show you. I will be there for you whenever you need me. I will gladly lose sleep when you have the urge to talk to me. I want you to talk to me about anything, even if you think it’s silly. Even when you think I wouldn’t care. I will always be there when you need me! I will write you poetry, I will write you little stories. I will tag you on Facebook and Instagram until you get sick of me. I will dream about our future together, distant or near. I will tell everyone about us, everyone who wants to know. I will lift you up when you’re down. I will pick up even the tiniest pieces when you’ve broken down. We will always be having our differences, but all I ask for in return, is for you to love me. Love me on my good days, but on my dark days , too. Pick me up when I’m down. Let me talk to you when I feel the need. Let me cry on your shoulder. Gladly lose sleep when I feel the need to talk to you about anything, because I need to. All you do for me, is what I will do for you. Accept that I don’t have much money. Accept that I’m messy, don’t like cleaning, and we will have the most wonderful life together.

He smirked, standing up and snatching the card out of my incompetent hands. “Let’s just throw this card out. I’ll have Meryl send flowers to Mary’s house from everyone in the office.” I let out a breath of relief. “I’m in full support of this plan. I’ll even chip in fifty bucks.” “Perfect.” “Hey, you’re throwing that card out, right?” I asked before he made his way out of my office doors. He only responded with a shrug and a few more cackles. Dean was such a bitch. If I didn’t love him so much, I’d have definitely disowned his designer-tag-wearing ass.

You fall madly in love with one man and nearly break your heart because he throws you over and years later you find out you would have been miserable with him; and you go to a man you don’t care for and it’s just the same with him too. Life is nothing but rags and tags and filthy rags at that. Why was I ever born?

You are valuable just because you exist. Not because of what you do or what you have done, but simply because you are. Remember that the next time you are left bobbing in the wake of someone’s steamboat ambition. Remember that the next time some trickster tries to hang a bargain basement price tag on your self-worth. The next time someone tries to pass you off as a cheap buy, just think about the way Jesus honors you … and smile. I do. I smile because I know I don’t deserve love like that. None of us do.

Comanche Heart Quotes Read My rating: 1 of 5 stars2 of 5 stars3 of 5 stars[ 4 of 5 stars ]5 of 5 stars Comanche Heart (Comanche, #2)Comanche Heart by Catherine Anderson 4,139 ratings, 4.05 average rating, 326 reviews Open Preview Comanche Heart Quotes Showing 1-8 of 8 “Do you think courage means being fearless? Or daring? Courage, real courage, is taking three steps when it terrifies you.” ― Catherine Anderson, Comanche Heart tags: courage, fear, fearless, inspirational29 likesLike Goodreads recommends Questions about Goodreads? Questions about Goodreads? Visit our Help section to find the answers you’re looking for, or let us know about your ideas to improve Goodreads. Learn More “Ask me to cut off my right arm for you, and I'll do it. Ask me to lay down my life for you, and I'll do it. But Please don't ask me to give you up now that I've found you again. Don't ask that, Amy” ― catherine anderson, Comanche Heart 20 likesLike “That's an L, as in love, and I love you more than I'll ever be able to tell you with words. I want to tell you in other ways. In the way I kiss you. In the way I touch you. In the way I hold you. Won't you let me say it my way, just once? - Swift to Amy” ― Catherine Anderson, Comanche Heart 17 likesLike “The sadness in your heart is a yesterday you can no longer see, so put it behind you and walk always forward. Swift Antelope to Amy” ― Catherine Anderson, Comanche Heart tags: forgetting-the-past, the-past-looking-to-the-future10 likesLike “A man whose yesterdays rest on his horizon travels forward into his past. The result is that he goes a very long way to nowhere.” ― Catherine Anderson, Comanche Heart 10 likesLike “¿Crees que ser valiente significa no tener miedo? ¿O atreverse? El coraje, en realidad, significa dar tres pasos cuando eso te aterra” ― Catherine Anderson, Corazón comanche 7 likesLike “This was how God had intended it to be. A precious gift. A sacred oneness. I love you. He said the words in the way he held her, his rock hard arms so gentle they felt like air around her. I love you. His hands told her-not merely touching her, but worshiping her.” ― Catherine Anderson, Comanche Heart 5 likesLike “I know, but this one is important.” He cupped his hand to her chin and looked deep into her eyes. “When you lie down tonight and close your eyes to fall asleep, take me with you. If the nightmares come, dream that I’m there.” He pressed his cheek to hers. She felt wetness touch her skin. “Don’t face them alone anymore.

If you fail , the will soon forget you , except your self. so don't fail

If you fail , the world will soon forget you , except your self. so don't fail

Each of those relationships ended because the love I gave was considered too hard… too suffocating. My father mapped out the perfect blueprint for how to treat a woman. He caters hand and foot to my mother. Even showers that love onto my sister. He never had to tell me how to treat my woman because his actions spoke louder. Did I cling to my woman? Absolutely. Being up under soft melanin skin pleased me. You want to read a book. Cool, what story we reading? Wanna go shopping? Take my card if you promise to model everything for me. Those heffas at work bothering you? Let’s get animated in the mirror and act like we about to tag team. Your period on? Baby, want me to rub your belly? You need me to get those diaper looking pads with the wings? How about some lemon ginger tea? What are your dreams? You want to sell weave? Let’s catch a flight to China or India and figure out how we can become wholesalers. You wanna make cute snapchat filter videos? What filter do you want? Are they not liking your pics? Fine. I’ll blast you all over my page. Your mother threatening to kick you out. Where you wanna move? Better yet, move in with me. Just focus on school and building your brand. I got everything else. You got finals coming up. Pick a tutor. Heck, can I pay for the answers to the quiz? You think those stretch marks make you unattractive? Come here and let me show you how much I appreciate your stripes of glitter. Do you want to go to Dr. Miami? Absolutely not. We going to the gym. Gym grown not silicone. We are working out together. Go ahead and hashtag us as #baegoals #coupleswhoworkouttogetherstaytogether. You want to switch the hair and get a tapered cut? Let me call my barber and see when we can go. Stressing and worrying? You keep hearing whispers while your sleeping? Nah bae, that’s not a ghost. That’s me praying for you. There are no stipulations with me. I gave it all. I had to. It was a part of my DNA. I needed to give the love I had in me unconditionally.

Time traveller He calls himself a time traveller, He travels anywhere and anytime, He is a very adept traveller, Who knows how to bypass time, We once met suddenly, When the traveller was travelling the highway of life, He was pacing very efficiently, And that day I happened to be on the same highway of life, As I was about to cross a junction, He stopped there too, And enquired if I knew how this highway of life did function? “I may not know that better than you,” Was my polite and slow answer, “Ah haa, you appear to be a stranger on this highway, Come let me introduce you to few tricks old and quite a few newer, So, come let us go this way.” Said the traveller as we both stepped on the highway, And paced towards a destination of his choosing, It was a beautiful experience anyway, Though his few ways were very amusing, Then we stopped at a far away corner, And he pulled something from his bag, He was smart but this thing seemed smarter, He opened it and removed the safety tag, Now he turned to me and said, “Look at the sky, what do you see?” And I without being reticent said, “The sky, the Sun, that is all I see,” Looking at me he replied, “I thought so, and here is the fact, You see the sky and just the Sun, But you miss the real act, Time invested cannot be undone, You see I am a time traveller and I travel with it, Today on this highway, tomorrow on another, But I never miss the destination even by a bit, And as we were walking together, I asked you what you see when you look at the sky, You should have said, nothing, I have no time for it, Because the Sun will be there, so will be the sky, Being the time travellers we are not allowed to sit, We have to keep on moving and always seeking, Until we reach our destiny, Now this for you is my lesson worth heeding, If you are to find your final destiny, So let the Sun be, let the stars shine, and let the sky spread its magical blue, You keep travelling, moving, from one destination to another, Then you shall be a time traveller too, Like none other, like none other, So we switched lanes on the highway, He rode in a direction new, And now I was a lone rider on my life’s highway, Having realised what is known to just a few, That to be the time traveller, We should not wander but travel with a fixed aim, Because a true traveller is like a true lover, Who knows love and destiny are not a game, So for the real time traveller, it is always one destiny and one love, Though crossing many destinations is a part of it all, But the passion for love and to love, Supercedes the lure of destinations all! Now I often see the time traveller on the highways that I cross, We just bow our heads and move ahead, Because we have a destination to cross, To reach the final destiny of love, and in this pursuit we shall always stay ahead!

A knock came at the door and I stiffened, getting to my feet so that I could open it. Darius stood outside wearing a black tux which looked like it had been made specifically for him. It fit perfectly and my mouth dried up as my gaze roamed over him. His dark hair was slicked back and the rough stubble lining his jaw ached for me to brush my fingers over it. No, no, no. Bad Tory. “Darcy’s not here yet,” I said in place of a greeting. “I can see that,” he replied. Before I could lose myself to the spell of his unfairly good looks, I turned away from him, heading back to the mirror which hung on the wall as I applied another coat of lipstick which wasn’t in any way necessary. He stayed by the door, leaning against the frame as he watched me. “You’re not wearing the dress I sent you.” “This might be a good time for you to realise, I don’t tend to do as I’m told,” I said dismissively. “I think I like this one better anyway.” I turned to look at him in surprise as his gaze slid over me in a way that made heat rise along my skin. “Nice to know you can admit when you’re wrong,” I said. “So you’re actually going to stick to your word about being nice?” Darius flashed me a smile which transformed his face in a way I’d never seen before. “I am. Just try not to fall in love with me though, it could make things awkward when we go back to fighting with each other tomorrow.” I scoffed at that and tossed my lipstick into my clutch just as my Atlas pinged. Darcy: I bumped into Orion by The Orb. He says he’s coming with us and that you should meet us here... I raised an eyebrow in surprise and tapped out a quick response. Tory: Okay, I’ll be there to rescue you from his grumpy face ASAP x “Darcy says she’s going to meet us at The Orb. She ran into your bestie and he told her he can’t bear to spend the evening away from you so he’s tagging along. I just hope that this party isn’t going to be dull, because inviting a teacher has really lowered my expectations for debauchery,” I said as I moved out of my room and locked up behind me. “In all honesty, Lance is more likely to add to the debauchery than detract from it,” Darius said, offering me his arm. “Ooo Lance has a first name. Will he want me using that or is it a special right only given to those who get a tattoo in his honour?” I asked, touching my fingers to Darius’s forearm where I knew the Libra brand sat on his skin beneath the fancy suit. I didn’t take his arm though and started walking down the corridor unassisted. “What makes you think that tattoo is for him?” Darius asked, falling into step with me easily despite the fast pace I set. “Oh is it a secret? I thought everyone knew he was your Guardian and you’ve got that little soul bond thing going on.” “Who told you that?” Darius demanded, his voice dropping an octave. “You just did.” I flashed him a smile and he scowled at me. “Done playing nice so soon?” He released a long breath as we reached the common room but didn’t reply. A lot of eyes turned our way. I guessed the sight of the two of us suddenly hanging out was pretty weird. (Tory)

Suraj solar and allied industries, Wework galaxy, 43, Residency Road, Bangalore-560025. Mobile number : +91 808 850 7979 Solar street lights have emerged as a sustainable and efficient lighting solution, harnessing the power of Solar Street Light Price in Bangalore, a city known for its technological advancements and focus on sustainable practices, the adoption of solar street lights has been on the rise. This article delves into the pricing dynamics ofSolar Street Light Price in Bangalore, exploring the factors influencing costs, comparing price ranges, and providing valuable insights for individuals or organizations looking to invest in this eco-friendly lighting option. 1. Introduction to Solar Street Lights Overview of Solar Street Lighting If you've ever walked down a dark street and thought, "Wow, this could really use some more light," then solar street lights are here to save the day. These nifty lights are like your regular street lights but with a green twist – they harness the power of the sun to illuminate your path. Importance of Solar Energy in Street Lighting Solar energy is like that reliable friend who always has your back – it's renewable, sustainable, and abundant. By using solar energy in street lighting, we reduce our dependence on fossil fuels, cut down on electricity bills, and contribute to a cleaner, greener future. Plus, who doesn't love soaking up some vitamin D during the day and then basking in solar-powered light at night? 2. Benefits of Solar Street Lights Energy Efficiency and Cost Savings Picture this: solar street lights gobbling up sunlight during the day, storing it in their metaphorical bellies, and then gleefully lighting up the streets at night without a care in the world. Not only are they energy-efficient, but they also help save on electricity costs in the long run. It's like having your cake and eating it too – or in this case, having your light and saving on bills. Environmental Impact and Sustainability If the planet could talk, it would give a standing ovation to solar street lights. By opting for solar-powered lighting, we reduce carbon emissions, lower our environmental footprint, and take a step towards a more sustainable future. It's basically like hitting the eco-friendly jackpot – brighter streets, happier planet. 3. Factors Affecting Solar Street Light Prices in Bangalore Quality and Brand Reputation Just like choosing between a gourmet burger and a fast-food one, the quality of solar street lights can vary. Brands with a good reputation often come with a higher price tag, but they also offer reliability and performance that's worth the extra dough. Technology and Features From fancy motion sensors to remote-control options, the technology and features packed into solar street lights can influence their prices. It's like picking a smartphone – the more bells and whistles, the higher the cost. But hey, who doesn't love a little extra tech magic in their lighting? 4. Price Range Analysis of Solar Street Light Price in Bangalore bustling city, solar street light prices can vary based on features, quality, and brand. It's like playing a price-matching game where you can find something that still sparkles like a diamond while staying within your budget. Popular Models and Their Prices Bangalore offers a wide range of popular solar street lights at a variety of price points, ranging from sleek, contemporary designs to robust, effective models. There is a solar street light with your name on it, whether you are a tech-savvy enthusiast or a buyer with a tight budget. 5. Tips for Choosing the Right Solar Street Light Considering Your Lighting Needs Prior to entering the solar street light market, consider your lighting requirements.

I think I’ve found my muse. I’m in love with your voice. I smile, reading the exact words Zac said to me after we sang together. My first instinct tells me the bouquet is from him, but there’s no name attached, and I only gave him my address an hour ago. Even when I twist the bouquet around in search for a tag, I can’t find anything to indicate who sent the roses.

Ethan slumped on the bench in the change room, ignoring the ribald behavior around him after yet another foregone win. A hard slap on the rear of his head roused him and he whirled, his lip curled back as he growled menacingly. “Don’t you dare show me your teeth,” Javier warned with a dark look. He ran his hand through hair, already tousled and sweaty from the match. “What the fuck happened out there? I passed you the perfect shot, and instead of grabbing it and scoring, you crashed into the g**damn arena glass. What are you, a rookie? Been watching too many Bugs Bunny cartoons?” Heat burned Ethan’s cheeks in remembrance of his mishap before dejection— along with a large dose of disbelief— quickly set back in. “I missed. It happens and besides, it’s not like we needed the point to win.” “Of course we didn’t,” Javier replied with a scoffing snort. “But it’s the point of it. What the hell distracted you so much? And, why do you look like your best friend died, which, I might add, is an impossibility given I’m standing right beside you.” Javier grinned. “I think I found my mate,” Ethan muttered. A true beauty with light skin, a perfect oval face framed by long, brown hair and the most perfect set of rosebud lips. Javier’s face expressed shock, then glee. “Congrats, dude.” Javier slapped him hard on the back, and while the blow might have killed a human or a smaller species, it didn’t even budge Ethan. “I know you’ve been pining to settle down with someone of the fairer sex. You must be ecstatic.” “Not really.” Although he should have been. Finding one’s mate was a one in a zillion chance given how shifters were scattered across the globe. Most never even came close to finding the one fate deemed their perfect match. His friend’s jovial grin subsided. “What’s wrong? Was she, like, butt ugly? Humongous? Old? Surely she can’t be that bad?” “No, she appears perfect. Or did.” Ethan groaned as banged his head off the locker door. “I am so screwed.” A frown creased Javier’s face. “I don’t get it. I thought you wanted to find the one, you sick bastard. Settle down and pop out cubs.” Ethan looked up in time to see Javier’s mock shudder. “Me, I prefer to share my love among as many women as possible.” Javier mimed slapping an ass then humping it with a leering grin. Ethan didn’t smile at Javier’s attempt at humor even if it happened to be the truth. Javier certainly enjoyed variety where the other sex was concerned. Heck, on many an occasion he’d shared with Ethan. Tag team sessions where they both scored. Best friends who did just about everything together. Blowing out a long sigh, Ethan answered him. “I do want to find my mate, actually, I’m pretty sure I already have, but I don’t think I made a great impression. She’s the one they took out on the stretcher after the ball I missed hit her in the face.” Javier winced. “Ouch. Sucks to be you, my friend. Don’t worry, though. I’m sure she’ll forgive you in, like, fifty years.” Ethan groaned and dropped his head back into his hands. Now that I’ve found her, how do I discover who she is so I can beg her forgiveness? And even worse, how the hell do I act the part of suitor? Raised in the Alaskan wilds by a father who wasn’t all there after the death of Ethan’s mother, his education in social niceties was sadly lacking. He tended to speak with his fists more often than not. Lucky for him, when it came to women, he didn’t usually have to do a thing. Females tended to approach him for sex so they could brag afterward that they’d ridden the Kodiak and survived. Not that Ethan would ever hurt a female, even if his idea of flirty conversation usually consisted of “Suck me harder” and “Bend over.” If I add “darling” on the end, will she count it as sweet talk?

Cole, did you ever stop to think maybe on some level Brandon knew you always loved Gemma and maybe this was his way of driving you two together?” Cole went quiet for a moment, then angled his head. “Have you been taking shrink classes, pal?” Jack laughed and toyed with his dog tags. “No, but I’ve been to enough of them to know how this all works.” He got quiet for a moment, like he was thinking about his own demons, before saying, “I know Brandon asked you to watch over her, but she’s a strong, independent woman. Maybe she’s not in need of your protection.

The Christmas Key The key hangs untouched For 364 days For the day after Christmas Is the day I put it away It’s getting on to the Yule Tide The one that comes every year Where smiling eyes are all around And hearts that count are here Each year is more of a struggle Still we reach the journeys end To find that we’re not just family We are also the best of friends The holiday gift is not a package No price tag to cut and hide It’s a celebration of a birthday Shared with loved ones by your side We remember the unforgettable Give thanks to all that’s new Once again, savor the innocence Of a child’s dream come true One more memory to add to the last Of love, warmth, and joy One more feeling of what was That still touches this little boy When the day is over The memories are locked away And the key put back in its place

There were a few things that really peeved a lion. Stealing his sunny nap spot. Messing up his mane. Eating the last donut. Yanking his fucking tail! Reflex had him spin on the brat who’d sneaked up on him. Well, sneaked up if he ignored the fact he knew she was behind him. Let her think she had him. He was so enchanted by the emergence of a playful side that he didn’t want to ruin her fun. A fun that ended when she yanked his tail. Rawr! He spun and shot her a baleful glare. For a moment she froze. A tremble went through her. She was scared. Ah hell. Surely she knew by now he’d never hurt her? But then again, could he expect years of abuse and habit to disappear after spending just over a day with him? He wondered what she’d do. Would she run or give him the broken puppy eyes? Why did this have to happen at all? Why did he have to look so fearsome? Was it his fault his lion was so impressive and scary? Was it— Wait a second, was she laughing? He eyed her. Yup. She was. Laughing and snorting. Now he glared for real. She chortled louder. “Oh. Oh.” She gasped. “If only you could see your expression.” He’d show her an expression. He shifted into his human self, but even his impressive nakedness couldn’t stem her mirth. He stood and then stalked, each long stride bringing him closer, and her laughter dampening until it stopped altogether. He almost applauded when she peered at him instead of staring at her toes. “Am I in trouble?” “Nothing a kiss wouldn’t fix.” Blackmail? Hell yeah. He’d do anything for a kiss. “If you want a kiss, you’ll have to catch me. Tag, you’re it.” She shoved him, open-palmed against his chest, before bolting, her lithe body a quick blur that soon disappeared from sight. Seriously? She was just awesomeness wrapped in a layer of perfection with a dab of naughty he was really loving.

You ready?” Matt asked, looking her up and down. “Oh hey, Xena. You tagging along?” “Yeah, just today.” “Hmm,” he stared at me a bit, then turned towards Penelope. “Love, is this your doing?” Love? Penelope immediately put her head down in shame. Matt was standing right next to her, right inside the door. The very alcove, Xavier and I had many disputes that turned into sex, orgasms, and spankings. Matt lifted her chin with his long forefinger. “Is this you?” “Matt, I just wanted to share some of my…” “No, Xena. Talking to her.” Well, excuse me. He tilted her head so she was looking at him. Then she mouthed, “Yes.” “Look. If this is going to work, you gonna need to grow a pair. I don’t bite and I ain’t looking for nothing from you. Okay? A friend,” he waved his hand my way,” asked me to help you out. So, that’s what I’m doing. That’s all I’m doing. We’re about to look at a bunch of apartments and houses. I’m going to need you to dig deep, grab a pair of balls, and speak the fuck up. Okay? Where you live is one of the most important decisions you’ll ever make. So, am I clear?” “Ma…” I started to call him because that was awfully harsh, but she cut me off. I swore her eyes squinted into a glare and she said, “Crystal clear.” Penelope turned from him, grabbed her purse off the table and left out the apartment, holding the door for us to follow. Well, damn. She had spunk. I knew it.

Speaking of feelings, there’s so much intense teasing between you and your brothers, Jep. Do feelings ever get hurt? Jep: I love my brothers and would do anything for them. I know they feel the same about me. Alan has always been there for me with a nonjudgmental attitude, a listening ear, and wise advice. Jase is such a good teacher about wildlife, and he’s the best speaker in our family. He studies, prepares, and he’s always able to look at the funny side of life. I really respect his knowledge. I’ve always thought Willie is the coolest guy in the world. I’ve loved and looked up to him from the first moment I can remember. I’d tag along with him more than anybody else, and he took the time to teach me basketball and baseball. I copied him in just about everything, and I know sometimes it got on his nerves. I was so much younger than my brothers that I really didn’t start stuff, but I sure didn’t mind going to tell on them. They’d get spanked, and I wouldn’t.

You goin’ somewhere?” I asked. “Out west.” “Out west? What is this, a John Wayne movie? There’s a lot that’s west of Boston. How far out west?” I asked. “Vegas,” he said, and turned down the strings. “Huh.” Vegas. That was quite the drive. I wondered how long it would take. I really had no clue. It was all the way across the country. Major road trip. “I’m headed that direction too,” I lied enthusiastically. He looked over at me, his eyebrows disappearing under the thick edge of his cap. “You’re headed to Vegas?” “Well, maybe not that far, you know, uh, just . . . west,” I hedged. I didn’t want him to think I wanted to tag along all the way to Vegas, although suddenly I thought I might. “Can I ride with you for a ways?” “Look, kid—” “Clyde?” I immediately interrupted. “I’m not a kid. I’m twenty-one years old. I’m not jailbait or an escapee from prison or a mental institution. I’m not a member of the Klan, or even a Bible salesman, although I do believe in Jesus and am not ashamed to admit it, though I will keep my love for him to myself if you’ve got issues with that. I have some money to contribute to gas and food and whatever else we need. I just need a lift out . . . west.

To me, love looks like golden light flooding through curtains as the sun peeks over the horizon to paint the sky with watercolors. It looks like the distorted version of a city that you know like the back of your hand through a window blurred with rain. It looks like receipts and clothing tags marking pages and passages that remind you of your memories with them in one of your favourite books.

Gabby, look,” Rachel squealed as I pushed open the screen door.  “A dog!” On the deck, Rachel reclined on her side, stretched out on a beach towel.  Between her towel and the one she’d set out for me, lay a monster of a dog, relaxing in the sun. I stopped and stared.  What was that thing?  Although the size of a mastiff, it looked nothing like one.  At least seven feet from nose to tail, the dog’s shaggy brown coat gave it a wild look.  Rachel didn’t seem to mind, though.  She continued to pet its head affectionately. It turned its head, which moved it out of Rachel’s reach.  Its soft brown eyes met mine. Rachel shifted to a sitting position to reach its head again. “It just walked up the porch steps and lay right down.  I nearly peed myself.  Have you ever seen a dog this big before?  What kind do you think it is?”  She continued to pet it lovingly. I remained glued in place, my stomach sinking.  Any lingering homesickness died as my suspicion grew.  What are the odds that an extremely large, random dog just appeared at my door scant hours after Sam dropped me off?  Improbable odds.  When I’d said I would get a dog, I’d meant it as a joke.  I couldn’t afford a dog. “And you’re not going to believe what its tag says,” Rachel said, not seeming to care that I hadn’t answered her questions.  “‘If found, please provide a good home.’  Isn’t that funny?”  She ruffled his neck fur, which made his hidden tags jingle.  The dog continued to watch me and ignore Rachel’s ministrations. “Yeah.  Funny,” I mumbled.  The size of the dog would ensure men didn’t bother me.  But a dog half its size would do the same.  Why get one so big?  Its size compared to Sam in his fur.  Did Sam think some of his kind might bother me?  If so, I didn’t see how a plain old dog would help.  My eyes widened as my own idiocy dawned on me. Not a plain dog. I needed to call Sam, find out what he’d been thinking, and then give him an earful for sending someone to the house to keep an eye on me.  I was about to turn and go back into the house when Rachel said something that made my stomach drop to my toes. “His tag also says his name is Clay.  What do you think?  Should we keep him?

David?” I almost looked around to see who she was talking to and then remembered my own name. It sounded different on her lips. “Yeah?” “You’re so nice. I didn’t expect you to be so nice.” “Why?” “Because all the girls at the bar are either in love with you, and they want to sleep with you, or they hate you, and they still want to sleep with you. I thought you were one of those bad-boy types.” “Oh, I’m plenty bad. I just try not to be an asshole to people who don’t deserve it. I guess you could say I’m a nice bad guy.” “I don’t think it works that way,” she said softly. “Trust me. It does. I’m good with people. But don’t cross me. And don’t cross the people I care about. Or you’ll see my bad side.” “I’ll remember that,” Amelie said seriously, nodding as if she had been contemplating crossing me only seconds before. The thought of the dainty, blind brunette with the pearly skin and the sweet smile screwing me over was comical. “You plotting something?” I asked, trying not to laugh. “I was. But I thought better of it.” She shivered dramatically. “Don’t want to see bad Tag.” “Bad Tag and Silly Millie.” “Millie?” “Doesn’t anyone ever call you Millie for short?” “No,” she answered frankly. “Henry and Amelie aren’t names you hear every day. They sound kind of old-fashioned.” “That’s because we were actually born in the late 1800s, when our names were more popular. We vampires don’t age, you know. And my blindness is just a ruse to make people feel safe.” Her lips twisted in a smirk. “Is that right?” I drawled, “Well, I’ll be damned. So you and Henry are forever gonna be, what, thirteen and twenty-two?” “Fifteen. Henry’s fifteen.” “But you’re actually one hundred and twenty-two?” “That’s right. We’ll still look this good in another hundred years.” That was a sad thought for Henry, but for Amelie, not so much

If and when I found him and he hadn’t got his danger fix, he’d be way more than just disgruntled. More like royally ticked off. Not the best time to share my recent revelation. One that shocked the heck out of me. One I wasn’t sure how to phrase. “Jake, you’re the love of my life.” Ugh. “You complete me.” Too Jerry Maguire. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” Gawd, no. I felt my lip curl as I pictured him fixing his intense blue eyes on mine, waiting for me to explain. As if I could. This sudden about-face didn’t even make sense to me. I just wanted him, dammit, even with his insane stunts, like hang glider tag.

Charlotte merely rolled her eyes. “You are such a drama llama. Fine. But I get to pick your partner.” “Drama llama?” Tag’s jaw dropped a little. “You do know that I am more like an elephant. I never fucking forget. The minute that boy is born, your ass is mine. I’ve got a list of punishments that will make your head spin.

It’s just no for tonight, Tag,” Jesse explained. “That’s no fun. I thought she would pick expellifucktis or something,” Tag replied. “Its expelliarmus,” she corrected. “And actually that is a good one. I really wouldn’t be thinking that in the middle of this and it is a disarming spell that forces your opponent to drop whatever they’re holding, so it works.” Now she sounded like a nerd. “Is this Harry Potter stuff?” Jesse asked. Yep, she was a super nerd. “Yes and I think Ian would make a good Voldemort.

A strong woman is one who feels deeply and loves fiercely. Her tears flow just as abundantly as her laughter. She is both soft and powerful. She is practical and spiritual. She is a gift to her family and the world... tag and appreciate the strong women in your life who keep you going...

Some businesses take a unique approach to this. Footwear brand Toms, already beloved thanks to its renowned blend of “social purpose” and product, forgoes splashy celebrity marketing campaigns. Instead, they engage and elevate real customers. During the summer of 2016, Toms engaged more than 3.5 million people in a single day using what they call tribe power. The company tapped into its army of social media followers for its annual One Day Without Shoes initiative to gather millions of Love Notes on social media. However, Toms U.K. marketing manager Sheela Thandasseri explained that their tribe’s Love Notes are not relegated to one day. “Our customers create social content all the time showing them gifting Toms or wearing them on their wedding day, and they tag us because they want us to be part of it.”2 Toms uses customer experience management platform Sprinklr to aggregate interactions on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. Toms then engages in a deep analysis of the data generated by its tribe, learning what customers relish and dislike about its products, stores, and salespeople so they can optimize their Complete Product Experience (CPE). That is an aggressive, all-in approach that extracts as much data as possible from every customer interaction in order to see patterns and craft experiences. Your approach might differ based on factors ranging from budget limitations to privacy concerns. But I can attest that earning love does not necessarily require cutting-edge technology or huge expenditures. What it does require is a commitment to delivering the building blocks of lovability that I reviewed in the previous chapter. Lovability begins with a mindset that makes it a priority. The building blocks are feelings — hope, confidence, fun. If you stack them up over and over again, eventually you will turn those feelings into a tower of meaningful benefits for everyone with a stake in your business, including owners, investors, employees, and customers. Now let’s look more closely at those benefits and the groups they affect.

I’ve fallen into the thought process of “I’ll be happy when I’m a size _____.” This is shallow and untrue. We cannot find our self-worth or happiness in our size. There is no such thing as a “size happy.” Large or small, Jesus loves us all. Friend, please stop looking for your validation in the mirror or on a scale. Your identity cannot be found there no matter how long you stare. Your worth cannot be found on the tag inside your jeans or leggings. Your beauty cannot be measured. Your appearance does not define you. Your identity is found in something that no one but God can truly see. Check out what God said when the prophet Samuel saw David’s impressive elder brother and thought Eliab must be the man God had chosen to be king: The LORD said to Samuel, “Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The LORD does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.” (1 Samuel 16:7) God looks at the heart. Your weight will fluctuate, your body will change, but his love for you remains the same. Your body is a vessel. It’s a tool. It does not determine your value. Only Christ can do that. Your body is not an object for others to look at for pleasure. Your identity is safely hidden in God’s care. The apostle Paul said it this way: “You died to this life, and your real life is hidden with Christ in God” (Colossians 3:3 NLT). No amount of Photoshop can change who we are in Christ. It’s time to remove the filters we hide behind and allow God to reveal our identity in him.

Theo stood, matching Erin’s aggressive stance. “I’m not a kid either.” “Oh, is the baby looking for a mommy?” Erin could be obnoxious to say the least. “I’ll show you what I’m looking for, sweetheart.” Theo took a step her way. “I’m too old for this shit,” Tag groaned. “Theo, dude, she will tear your dick off.” “The heart wants what the heart wants, I guess,” Theo tossed back with a smirk on his face.

I’m too old for this shit,” Tag groaned. “Theo, dude, she will tear your dick off.” “The heart wants what the heart wants, I guess,” Theo tossed back with a smirk on his face. Tag stared at his brother. “Then your heart needs to have a long discussion with your dick because again—she will rip it off. It’s why I hired her. Please, can we stuff the sexual tension down where it should be? Like deep down. I don’t want to hear about anyone’s fucking feelings or dark desires or childhood anxieties. Shove it down like a man and yes, I mean you, Erin.

if you want a teacher for your leisure time you will only need a book

Don't betray your spouse either you are a male or female even in a dream

Reveal your individual skill without doing thinking to become famous

whatever those who don't know you talks about you , its your victory

comfort your own sorrows with your self , which will always save you from any situation

Your happiness is just in your mind not in others 'acts . you don't need it whether it is good or bad

Reveal your own personal skills without doing anything to become famous

I hated the car, the rubber toys, disliked your friends and, worse, your relatives. The jingling of my tags drove me mad. You always scratched me in the wrong place. All I ever wanted from you was food and fresh water in my metal bowls. While you slept, I watched you breathe as the moon rose in the sky. It took all of my strength not to raise my head and howl. Now I am free of the collar, the yellow raincoat, monogrammed sweater; the absurdity of your lawn, and that is all you need to know about this place except what you already supposed and are glad it did not happen sooner- that everyone here can read and write, the dogs in poetry, the cats and all the others in prose.

The Revenant I am the dog you put to sleep, as you like to call the needle of oblivion, come back to tell you this simple thing; I never liked you-not one bit. When I licked your face, I thought of biting off your nose. When I watched you toweling yourself dry, I wanted to leap and unman you with a snap. I resented the way you moved, your lack of animal grace, the way you would sit in a chair to eat, a napkin on your lap, knife in your hand. I would have run away, but I was too weak, a trick you taught me while I was learning to sit and heel, and-greatest of insults-shake hands without a hand. I admit the sight of the leash would excite me but only because it meant I was about to smell things you had never touched. You do no want to believe this, but I have no reason to lie. I hated the car, the rubber toys, disliked your friends and, worse, your relatives. The jingling of my tags drove me mad. You always scratched me in the wrong place. All I ever wanted from you was food and fresh water in my metal bowls. While you slept, I watched you breathe as the moon rose in the sky. It took all of my strength not to raise my head and howl. Now I am free of the collar, the yellow raincoat, monogrammed sweater; the absurdity of your lawn, and that is all you need to know about this place except what you already supposed and are glad it did not happen sooner- that everyone here can read and write, the dogs in poetry, the cats and all the others in prose.

an Aussiedoodle’s needs are less expensive than what is required for most other breeds. The following are recommended items: ● Crate ● Bed ● Leash ● Doggie bags for walks ● Collar ● Tags ● Puppy food ●Water and food bowls (sharing a water bowl is usually okay, but your puppy needs her own food dish if you have multiple dogs)

I wore diamonds for the birth of your baby For the birth of your son On the same day, my husband-to-be Packed his things to run Was bittersweet to say the least One life begins, one comes undone I've always been a strong woman of faith Strong like a tree, but the unlucky one I'm going down now With all of my Fine china and fresh linen All of my dresses with them tags still on them Fine china and dull silver My white horses and my ivory almonds I guess they really got the best of us, didn't they? They said that love was enough, but it wasn't The Earth shattered, the sky opened The rain was fire, but we were wooden I wore diamonds for the day of our wedding For our day in the sun On the same day, my mother-to-be said she wouldn't come It's always been that way with me No time for change, no time for fun It's always been that way, it seems One love begins, one comes undone I'm going down now With all of my Fine china and fresh linen All of my dresses with them tags still on them Fine china and dull silver My white horses and my ivory almonds I guess they really got the best of us, didn't they? They said that love was enough, but it wasn't The Earth shattered, the sky opened The rain was fire, but we were wooden All of my, all of my fine china All of my, all of my fine china All of my, all of my fine china Blue, ah, blue All of my, all of my fine china All of my, all of my fine china All of my, all of my fine china Blue, ah Fine china and fresh linen All of my dresses with them tags still on them Fine china and dull silver My white horses and my ivory almonds I guess they really got the best of us, didn't they? They said that love was enough, but it wasn't The Earth shattered, the sky opened The rain was fire, but we were wooden Fine china, fine china, fine china Fresh linen, fresh linen, fresh linen

If you want to know yourself, you have to be interested in yourself for the rest of your life. And you must remember one thing, You are beyond a particular tag. You cannot be labeled. Be undefinable. Let them wonder who you are while you create a personality for yourself that makes you fall in love with yourself every day.

Four very large, lone black suitcases with bright tags are all that remains on the belt. “You’re kidding me.” Her eyes are glued to the belt. “No, I’m not. And please don’t tell me those are all yours.” I give her one of my you know me smiles. “Yes, they are.” She sees my face and laughs. “Makayla, they are not going to fit in my little car.” “Sure they will—they have to. After all, your surfboard does.” She’s shaking her head. “That gets strapped to the top.” “Then we’ll strap them to the top if we have to,” I tell her. Her snort worries me. “Relax. We’ll figure something out.

It was never a matter of “how” I did things. I’m sure any parent would do the same. Single parenting isn’t just being the only one to take care of your kid. It’s not about being able to “tap out” for a break or tag team bath- and bedtime; those were the least of the difficulties I faced. I had a crushing amount of responsibility. I took out the trash. I brought in the groceries I had gone to the store to select and buy. I cooked. I cleaned. I changed out the toilet paper. I made the bed. I dusted. I checked the oil in the car. I drove Mia to the doctor, to her dad’s house. I drove her to ballet class if I could find one that offered scholarships and then drove her back home again. I watched every twirl, every jump, and every trip down the slide. It was me who pushed her on the swing, put her to sleep at night, kissed her when she fell. When I sat down, I worried. With the stress gnawing at my stomach, worrying. I worried that my paycheck might not cover bills that month. I worried about Christmas, still four months away. I worried that Mia’s cough might become a sinus infection that would keep her out of day care. I worried that Jamie’s behavior was escalating, that we would get in a fight, that he would go back on his offer to pick her up at day care that week just to make it difficult for me. I worried that I would have to reschedule work or miss it altogether. Every single parent teetering on poverty does this. We work, we love, we do. And the stress of it all, the exhaustion, leaves us hollowed. Scraped out. Ghosts of our former selves. That’s how I felt for those few days after the accident, like I wasn’t fully connected to the ground when I walked. I knew that at any moment, a breeze could come and blow me away.

You are the toxic one After looking through the window. Look into the mirror . Look through your cellphone. Is this you ? You have cut all ties with people who spoke bad about you. You know the danger of lies and rumors what it can do to a person. But on social media you follow all the accounts that speak bad of others. You follow and glorify all this toxic social media accounts. Mean, vile , miserable , psychopath , pathological liars . You are the first to laugh, comment and share their content. Its you who is spreading the toxic gospel, you even tagging others. Making remarks of not being judged by liking their content. Asking others if it is only you, who likes their content or there are others like you ? You have condition yourself to get excited every time , you hear bad news or bad things happening to others. Next step will be you opening fake or catfish account if you haven’t already. Bad traits have addiction,. Yours started by loving people secrets and downfall. The reason you follow those accounts is to feed your inner soul. It Is because you can relate. They are you and you are them. You share the same mentality, views, sentiments, resemblance, ideology, and character traits. You are justifying their wrong doings or sayings, because in you . There is nothing wrong they said or done. After looking through the window. Look into the mirror . How toxic you are . Look through your cellphone. How bad you have become. By just adding or following someone who is toxic.

When you feel sad, remember your successful moments.

Dear Teachers, I hope your school year is going pretty well. I hope your classes are not causing you too much trouble and your families are doing well. You might be wondering why you are tagged to this post and what this is all about. It’s Teachers’ Day, the day for being thankful to our teachers. Some of you I had over a decade ago, some of you might not even remember who the heck I am. But if you’re reading this, this is my way of officially thanking you. For what? Let me explain. To the ones who made me love learning as a whole – If you are an elementary school teacher, this goes out to you. You are the reason I am where I am today. If it weren’t for your hard work and dedication to teaching me and every other student what you know, my future would not be as bright as it is now. I chose to go to college because somewhere along the line, you taught me that education is important and I have to strive to help others by educating myself. This is not always easy, but you helped me understand that willingness to learn is one of the most important aspects of a person. For that, I am forever grateful for you and everything you have done for me and so many others. To the ones who helped me find my passions– Writing, training, and helping people are what I love. No matter what I have been through in my life, everything goes back to the fact that in the future, I want to help people and I want to change the world. Writing and creating training programs are what make that happen. It made me realize that in the future, I don’t just want a shiny car, big bungalow, and other material items. I want something that sticks with people for all time – and what better way to do that than to become a writer and write for those who can't write for themselves? Shout out to those teachers who helped me find my passion, and maybe even made an effort to help me pursue it as well. To the ones who taught me more than the textbooks – you honestly saved me. You taught me that learning isn’t always about getting 100s on every test and being the perfect student. You helped me realize that a part of learning means making mistakes. You taught me that brushing yourself off, getting back up, and trying again is essential to get anywhere in this world. I grew up being the smart kid who never had to study and when the going got tough, I didn’t always know how to respond. You helped me with my problem solving skills and fixing things that needed fixing. This isn’t necessarily always talking about school, but life in general. You taught me that my value was not depicted by my score on a test, but rather who I was as a person. It is hard to put into words, but some of you honestly are the reason I am here today – succeeding in my first semester of college, off to university before I know it. Thank you so much. To the ones who didn’t know I could talk – I’m sorry I didn’t speak up more in your class. Many of you knew I had a lot to say, but knew I did not know how to say it or how to get the thoughts out. I promise you, even though you could not hear it, I am thankful for you - thankful that you did not force me out of my comfort zone. I know that may not sound like much, but when you have as much of a fear of speaking out as I do, that is such a big deal. Thank you for working with me and realizing that someone does not need to speak in order to have knowledge in their mind. Thank you for not basing my intelligence on my ability to present that information. It means a lot more than you will ever realize. To the ones who don’t know why you made this list – Congratulations. Somewhere along the way, you impacted me in a way I felt was worth acknowledging you for. Maybe you said something in class that resonated with me and changed my outlook on a situation, or life in general. Maybe you just asked me if I was okay after class one day. If you’re sitting there scratching your head, wondering how you changed my life, please just know you did.

Megan was over at the Morgan brothers’ house, having a casual dinner with Drew and his brother, Alan. It was casual in the sense that there were only three courses and no ice sculpture. When Alan left the room to get dessert, Megan said, “If you don’t give me whatever’s in your pocket, I’m going to reach in there and grab it myself.” He got a devilish grin and threw his hands in the air. “Help yourself!” She reached in and found a ring. Not an engagement ring but a ring with a large stone in the middle. A cheap-looking stone. Megan frowned. “Is this plastic?” “It’s a mood ring,” he said. “I bought it at a carnival when I was a kid. I wore it to school once because I thought it was cool. I got my first black eye that day.” “You got bullied?” “Not exactly. The guy who punched me once got two right back.” She handed the ring back. “You can wear it now, if you want. You’re an adult. Nobody’s going to beat you up.” She made a fist and punched her palm. “Not if they don’t want me to tag in and finish the match.” He put the ring back in his pocket. “Never mind,” he said. She put her hand in his pocket and grabbed the ring back. “Don’t tell me to never mind. Why do you have this? Were you going to give it to me?” “I thought it would be funny,” he said. “You’re reading all those books Feather recommended, and you’re doing that thing where you name your emotions. I thought it would be funny if you had a mood ring to help you with that.” She tried on the ring. The only finger it fit was her ring finger, so she left it there. “I like it,” she said. “It’s not very funny, though. It’s actually kind of…” She was at a loss for words. It had been happening a lot lately. Coming up with words to describe feelings was much harder than being crass or sarcastic. “Romantic,” Drew said. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. It’s romantic.” She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Plus, now I know your ring size,” he said. They both looked down at her hand. She looked away. “For the future,” he said. “Relax. I don’t mean right now.” She looked at the ring again. It was changing colors. “It’s working,” she said. “It’s a heat-sensitive compound,” he said. “It doesn’t really tell you someone’s mood, just how warm their fingers are.” “But finger temperature means a lot,” she said. “I’ve been reading about the nervous system, and how everything works together in all these different feedback loops. When someone’s stressed, their hands get cold. Or when their hands get cold for some other reason, they might feel stressed and make up a story about why they feel that way. People make up a lot of stories to explain how they feel because it’s so confusing to not know, and sometimes we’d rather think it’s because of something bad than not know at all.” He looked down at the ring, which was still changing colors. “I had no idea.” “I’ll have to come into your clinic and give you some tips for putting your patients more at ease.” “You can’t do that,” he said. “It would really cut down on the screaming, which I have grown to love.” He gave her his mad scientist cackle. “You are so weird.” She kissed him again.