I truly am a fool. I am a hopelessly, irredeemably, foolish boy with less sense than an inbred sea sponge. For it is not enough that I should do something foolish, but that I should then proclaim my foolishness via text (TEXT!) of all the satanic mediums! Oh, that texting was never invented! Alas, alas!
My act of stupidity (or rather, cupidity?) so nearly went undiscovered. For She, that marvellous object of my affections, that object upon which I act out my foolishness, She was not even home! She need never have known! Imagine my great luck, my God-granted pardon, that no one opened that door to see me standing there, a hopeless romantic, a poor, lovesick puppydog gripping desperately in one hand a clutch of daisies, in the other a ukulele (UKULELE!). Had She opened that door, after any of those seventeen seperate times that I knocked, and then had She seen me standing so upon her threshold I should have surely died of shame. As it was, I nearly escaped with my dignity. Were it not for my loathsome need to have my foolishness known
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