Lola had a bad case of mentionitis—when thoughts of a lover are so pervasive, they find their way into every topic (“Jethro has the grey version of your bath mat!” she said at one point, like she’d discovered we shared a grandmother). A diagnosis of chronic mentionitis—that another human has bought a permanent property on a road that goes right through the middle of your soul—means that you are truly, irreversibly, horrifically in love.
