It must be love

The Mister rose at 5:10 in the morning to escort me to the Annie's Annuals Mother's Day party. "It's like crack isn't it?" one lady said to me as we passed in the aisles of rare and unique plants. These are my people. We listened to the latest Harry Dresden book on the road. The exposition in the last few books makes me want to tear out my hair, as the author papers over the plot holes I don't even care about. Maybe it would be different and less exposition-y if I were reading it myself? Still, I know I'll keep reading them because I care.

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