How sad is it that I'm in love with pasta attachments? I am at this moment awaiting registration
confirmation (through an email address I don't care about) to a website that purports to give me
massive data—specs, manuals, parts—on kitchen products from so far in the past that I'm clearly
wasting the effort...yet on I press. I'm assuming it's from love.
What is love?
I think it must connect to certain random words:
In no way all-inclusive, but representative of the synaptic love-firings going on in my particular noggin. (There are probably as many hate-firings going in there, but not very good or useful to even go there.)
Won't go on.