I read this today and liked it.

I thought you might like it as well.

Joaquín shrugs. He can’t read Lucas, doesn’t want to offend him. He goes diplomatic. “Don Arroyo waited also, for years, to court my mother. He wrote a waltz and hired músicos to play it on the street below her window, spent months writing words to it that satisfied him, took lessons to learn how to sing it. He waited. He paced, around and around. At last, one August night, when he knew she was home, he brought the band over. On the last three notes, his voice broke, and she opened the window. My father was already there with her. Don Arroyo was confused. How did you win her? he said. And my father said, I saw her in the butcher and asked.”

I'll leave it to you to decide if the moral of the story is worth believing, or if it's just a pretty lie that convinces us to do poor work.

But it's a great story.