Chick Flicks have it all wrong.

Love isn't long romantic weekends full of flowers, diamonds, and hand-kissing. Nor is it steamy, semi-sleazy, fervent coupling in a rainy meadow. (though I wouldn't knock it, it's quite lovely.) These things are nice, but they're transient, impractical, and ultimately unsustainable.

Love is watching your husband fall asleep with a book and a cat on his lap, while you both watch Law & Order reruns on Channel 46 at 10:00 on a Friday night. It's the way you're both exhausted from your respective days, yet still want to be in each other's company. It's the heavy leg he throws over your lap, the soft blanket covering the two of you that you both bought when you purchased the couch, and the way you can recognize the sound of his snoring in a crowded room.

It's learning that you made the right choice, all those years ago, when you decided to take a chance on a guy six years your junior, because he was cute and could use the word 'anaerobic' correctly in a sentence. It's learning that comfort doesn't equal boredom, and that your definition of freedom can widen when you meet the right person. It's letting the cynic inside of you quiet a little, because you don't have to use it to protect yourself anymore.

In the long run, it's a lot more satisfying than anything starring Kate Hudson ever will be. True love will change you, but it will always be for the better.