One day when I was at an impressionable age, my father came home from the office he and my mother ran together, and started to make himself a sandwich. Nothing unusual in that, he’s a fat greedy man. But he left half the sandwich and wrapped it in plastic.

“Saving it for later eh dad?” I said.
“No no, it’s for your mother when she gets home.”
“But she’ll be back in ten minutes, why bother wrapping it?”
“Because the bread might get a little stale and won’t taste as good.” (my emphasis)

*That*’s love, I realised.

Yeah, I’m bragging a little. I’m like that.