Now that Liz is no longer dating The Toucan, it's hard to remember why she wanted to start the damn thing in the first place (and why she put up with tamarind breath for so long.) As we sit around Toucan headquarters this morning, trying to negotiate with ourselves the amount of things needing to be done and the amount of time we need to spend with our Significant Otters (who are currently banging clams against rocks, anticipating our return), this poem seemed the appropriate choice.
To the Otters: thank you for your patience and your love. We love you too. And no matter how much this poem may make you want to, please don't throw up on us.
Love Is
by Jessy Randall
Love is patient, love is kind and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant.
– 1 Corinthians 13:4
Love won’t throw up all over you. Love is nice! Love is not an annoying fat man sitting next to you on the plane eating beef jerky. Love is soft. Love is warm. Love is furry, etcetera. Love is the smell of bacon frying, if you like bacon, which not everyone does, but most people do. Love is not an idiotic computer game. But let us not speak of what love is not, for then we will be here all day, and love is patient, but not that patient.
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