If I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but do not have love, I have become a noisy gong or a clanging symbol. If I have the gift of prophecy, and know all mysteries and all knowledge; and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.
Today my fine husband took me out to a delicious dinner at the Sole Proprietor, just down the road. We ate a delicious appetizer of lightly breaded shrip followed by Caesar salads, then munched luxuriously on perfectly melt-in-your-mouth fish. Mine was trout stuffed with scallops and bacon; usually I shy away from scallops, but the tenderness of these overcame my fears of having to chew at food the consistency of rubber bouncy balls. Yet by far the best for me was the White Chocolate Tartufo, a ball of gelato rolled in almonds and Heath bars set in a plate of liquid fudge. We split one – thankfully – but oh my goodness. It was deliciously wonderful, and I felt only sadness when even my conservative spoonfuls came to an end. We talked and laughed and it was a lovely date.