In truth, he’d never been handsome, and in our forty years together his looks certainly hadn’t improved. I stared at him now. Over time, in a sort of strange facial continental drift, his eyes and mouth had migrated to the edge of his face, as if fleeing at a glacial pace some terrible event that had occurred somewhere around his nose.
He could also be rude: intolerant, abrupt, occasionally profane. As for money, every pound was a prisoner. And his grammar was truly appalling.
He looked up and caught my eye.
“I love you, hon.” He smiled.
“I love you too.”
“…a sort of strange facial continental drift… Wow! Imagery just doesn’t get much better than this. Great job. A winner!!!
Sometimes it’s like that. Nice one.
A smile for this one. Checking to see where my eyes have migrated. ?