Love is when someone gives you enough frequent flier miles to buy an overseas flight. When they could have used those miles to upgrade themselves to first class (or at least business class) and you know their knees will be smashed into the seat in front of them in coach, while you will have plenty of room with your below average height.
Love is not red roses. Because they had red roses in first class (because I think their @#$% really does stink, and that's why they had roses lining the curved staircase leading to the upper deck.) And someone didn't even flinch.
Love doesn't even lose a step when co-workers go to the special first class entrance, and then come off the plane totally rested from the lay-flat seats.
So I conclude that love is not red roses, but maybe a big bunch of frequent flier miles.
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