and a latte just the way I like it. He massages my feet afterward to start my day right.” Wow,” I said, nodding, “that sounds amazing.” “Oh, but there’s more,” she continued. “He cooks me a gourmet lunch every afternoon, serenades me with his guitar while I relax in the garden, and spoils me with candlelit dinners. He even writes poetry just for me!” I was thoroughly impressed. “He plays the guitar for you?

How romantic! That sounds like a dream. But why are you crying?” She sniffled loudly, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Because… I can’t remember where I live!” I bit my lip to suppress my laughter, but let’s just say it didn’t work. I chuckled so hard that I might’ve needed a tissue myself.