So last night, Kevin and I are settling in for a pleasant evening, by which I mean we both had books, we had cartoons, we were planning to spend an hour or so reading and snuggling, maybe commit a few of the more easily accessible sins of the flesh, and then hit the sack.
Then an ad for Pop-Tarts came on TV. It was hypnotic. It sounded really good. There may have been ninjas.

“Damn,” I said. “Now I really want a pop-tart.”

“So do I.”

We stared at the TV for a moment, then at each other.

“Wanna go get pop-tarts?”

“…yes.”

And that is how we wound up at a Harris Teeter at eleven at night, buying pop-tarts and Orangina. Since this is Chatham County, where they roll up the streets at six ‘o clock, no one was in the Harris Teeter but us, and given how much we were giggling, the staff had to think we were high.

The best thing about being in love in your thirties is that you can still act like a stupid teenager, but you have a car and funding, and if you want pop-tarts at eleven at night, you can by god have pop-tarts!

The other best thing about love is finding someone who is willing and eager to go make a pop-tart run in the middle of the night with you, but maybe that goes without saying.