For better

I am married to a man who cries when he watches Casablanca, which is what we did last night with a bottle of Prosecco and some nice cheese and chocolates to celebrate Valentine’s Day.  A lot of people cry when Humphrey Bogart puts Ingrid Bergman on the plane to Lisbon — and he is one of them.  But he also cries when the cafe rises up to sing La Marseilles in defiance of the Nazis.  And so I have to love him.