Paprika

At some point in the past, and I truly don't remember the setting or what preceded this moment, I told Bob something like "It would be nice if you sometimes whispered sweet nothings in my ear." Bob had no idea what this meant. Perhaps it is because I read sappy Nicholas Sparks novels while he reads about war and history and mysteries and Harry Potter. Or maybe it's because I am a woman and he is not. Or maybe he had never been properly trained.

But, despite his ignorance on the topic, he loves me very much and wants to please me. So he did all he knew how to do, and I began to hear these words in an awkward kind of whisper: "Sugar...brown suger...powdered sugar....honey...syrup...".

At this point I am giggling, on the verge of full laughter. But he is trying so hard and I appreciate that effort, so I try to control my outburst. But then, as he has gone through the easy things and is trying so hard to think of something else sweet, I hear this:

 "...paprika...".

And then I was a goner. He eventually learned what sweet nothings really are, that paprika is not sweet, and why this incident was so funny. And cute. And he likes to be cute. So now, a good two years later, I still hear him whisper "paprika" from time to time. But I always hear it as "I love you." And I smile.