“I’m in the tunnel of love,” said Robert the other day on the phone, pronouncing love with two syllables as if he were some sort of gigolo on a mission.
Uh huh, I replied. And I’m at Magic Mountain.
“No really, I am in the tunnel of love,” he insisted.
OK, what ARE you doing, I asked, beginning to wonder what the heck he was up to THIS time.
“There’s construction on the way to my office and I have to go through a tunnel. Someone spray painted kärlek (love) tunnel on it.”
Oh. Well that’s rather sweet.
“Yeah, I thought you’d like it. That’s why I called.”
Then the other day, Robert took me there so I could walk through the tunnel of love too.