What has 18 legs and lives in the cellar?

You know, the thing about love letters - well, for me, anyway - is that I long to receive them, but when they actually come with salutations like: "My love, Barbara..." I feel slightly queasy. I wonder why. He signs most letters with: "I am fine and very much in love with you..."

Did I lose respect for him due to the damned endearments? Was I so used to my father's lack of sentimentality - there were no loving hugs from dad to mother or vice versa in our kitchen, no friendly pats on the butt, no indications of any kind that there was "love" going on, although the word itself was used from time to time. It just never sounded very real. It sounded rather Biblical. "As god loves me, so I love you." That sort of thing. There was always an air of aloofness to love in our family.

And so, since I have spent the years since choosing men who do NOT use endearments - probably don't even feel them very often - did I decide they were worth more respect than those who did use them? I did have one guy who ostentatiously worshipped the ground upon which I trod (which didn't stop him from arguing with me when drunk). I dumped him. And it wasn't the arguments. Well, yes, it was. But it was also the worship. I couldn't take it.

Or did I feel that I wasn't worth loving, and therefore had no respect for those who believed I was - what could they know, after all, if they thought I was worth something? Even now, I know I wasn't worth a hill of beans in those days. I think better of myself now. But I still can't quite forgive my younger self. Or those who loved me.

Answer to question at top: The Cubs.