Читать книгу Why Love Will Always Be a Poor Investment - Kurt Armstrong - Страница 2

To Erika,

my wife, who, on more than one occasion, has locked the door behind me when I’ve stepped out to check the mail.

my wife, who asks me to hide the chocolate chips because she doesn’t feel like she’ll be strong enough to resist the temptation to snack on them and then, one day, has a chocolate craving so fierce she tears everything out of the kitchen drawers, everything off the shelves, everything out of the cupboards, just to try to find those damn chocolate chips.

my beautiful wife, whom I’ve watched use three different knives to cut up one apple. And then, when she was done, she put the slices into a cute bowl and walked away, leaving the knives—including the best knife, the go-to knife for everyday slicing and cutting, the German-made 6 inch paring knife that she gave to me for Christmas one year—the cut up apple core, and the apple juice, all sitting there on the cutting board, the knives getting sticky and the apple guts slowly turning brown.

my wife, my dearest friend in the whole world for the past seventeen years, who, as the very last thing she does before she goes to bed, takes one last look in the bathroom mirror and fixes her hair.

my wife, you are the soul of this book in all kinds of obvious ways, and in countless ways only you and I could know. I adore you.