Differences

I look at my children and think “I love them all in different ways”. There is no rank order. There’s plenty enough love to go round.... equally.... for their differences.

By the same token I think that if there seems to be an indefinite supply of love, and love of differences, then it should be perfectly acceptable for me to love a whole host of different women. Oh what a different life I might lead!

“But that’s different!” my wife would doubtless explain if I dared share my thoughts.

Then I look across at her and I realise the difference.