How do I love thee, Miss Chef? I love thee enough to arise early from my warm bed on a cold, rainy Saturday morn, following hard upon a fortnight of hard work and harder play; a morn which begs for long, late dreams and quiet residence within.
I love thee enough to clad myself in layered garments against the morning's chill and rain, to gather myself together and step out into a dreary gray day. I love thee enough to withdraw my precious dollars in cash and deliver it into the hands of the farmer at the market; to procure for you a heavy sack of beef bones, which I then lug away to the car, and for which I must create sufficient storage space in the freezer unit upon returning home. I love thee enough to do this penance in the name of your stock.
All this while you are away from me, still abed, perchance, in the warm embrace of your kin.
(I admit, the two chocolate croissants I bought myself do help make up for it...a little. As will whatever destiny you conceive of for that stock.
Still...I just want you to appreciate how deep my love abides.)