How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Appliances ...

So, The Hub and I are riding on the BART train in full Oakland Athletics regalia with enough food and enough beverages and enough whatnot to last through nine innings, a post-game fireworks show and an Act of God, potentially.

The BART train is full of Oakland Athletics fans, commuters and a few fellows with no teeth. Riders are reading Kindles, listening to music, hushing their children and talking very, very loud.

Note: Certain BART riders also employ their airplane voices--the voices that permeate through the screeching of engines and brakes and the inflight movie, if there was one, and go on and on and on, yes.

The couple across the aisle from me captures my somewhat-limited attention. They are late-twenties, perhaps, wearing green A's shirts and I notice that her pant cuffs are rolled up, exposing her cankles, a trend that I have yet to embrace.

Note: I am referring to the rolled up pant cuff trend, not the cankle trend.

The couple is talking and gazing--at each other--and rubbing each other's hands and knees and whatnot.

Note: Not that kind of whatnot. Please try to focus.

So, the couple is talking and gazing and rubbing and whatnot. I nudge The Hub, who is feeling a little dozey.

Look at that couple, I am saying. They are 'in love'.

The Hub looks. He is not impressed.

But I persist. He can't take his eyes off of her, I say. Remember when we were 'in love'?.

The Hub looks thoughtful.

He speaks. I'm spending thousands and thousands of dollars renovating your house and I bought you bamboo floors and Thermador appliances...

Wait for it ... wait for it ...

If that's not love, I don't know what is.

Be still my heart.

Heck, yes!