He had a hidden, sweet smile
But a terrible tattoo.

He had terrific taste in tacos
But utterly horrible manners.

He had the poshest accent
But a serious, long-term girlfriend.

They are like a girl’s very own, multi-coloured, cheap, plastic Easter eggs, waiting to be cracked open.  Sigh, these silly little Easter eggs.  The question is not whether or not they are novel, intriguing, or interesting.  The question is their duration - how long they will remain novel, intriguing, or interesting.  Attention-deficit disorder is not a condition that is isolated to my horse Ryon.  My attention could be lost to a myriad of shiny objects, bright lights, or sudden movements.

However, you bring the repartee and I will guarantee you an interested audience who won’t once be distracted by looking at a flashing screen.  You bring a conversation that does not revolve around “so what do you do for a living” and I guarantee you that I won’t give you a fake response, smile, or laugh.  We may even talk for hours.  Or we could crash and burn.  But oh what a crash it would be!

Oh, and my favourite way of preparing eggs?  Scrambled.