I might ask. Once. At the most twice. But I refuse to beg or demand. Either you give me your attention because showering me with thoughtfulness brings you pleasure, or it doesn’t. So you don’t. I will not clamor and wave my hands to be seen. You’ll not catch me creating an uproar for a word from you. I choose to not cheapen myself that way. Why? Because affection that has to be wrestled from the giver is clearance-sale affection—devalued, cold and stale. And in many ways that makes it worse than nothing at all.