This is (she said with very little hyperbole) pretty much the best thing ever. Not a word or sentiment (or lack thereof) is out of place, and I'd be hard-pressed to pick a lover (as would Irma, I suspect).
Lines, however, are easier to play favourites with.
Everyone knows there are two types of librarian in the world. I knew I was going to love this from the opening line.
The one thing Irma has not learned from Min is the application of sweet nothings.
As usual, Horace’s promises tend to be more impressive than their execution, particularly when it comes to substantive matters.
Wednesdays, Irma checks the box scores. ;-)
And she accepts it with gratitude enough to keep her Thursdays clear. Just in case.
But by the next Friday night out, with a few pints in her, it is the pride she remembers when Rosmerta comes sashaying past the bar.
In all their talks, somehow, they missed or simply avoided touching upon those parts of the future which made it clear there could not be one.
With her, he is always the gentleman, but with none of Horace’s airs: leaping up when he realizes he’s forgotten to pull out her chair for her, or anxiously confirming that yes, she really is enjoying the soup. Every date is a strange but deeply satisfying combination of a first, fumbling encounter and comfortable familiarity. *sighs happily*