When I saw your profile, I fell out of my chair and hit my head on the floor, resulting in a mild concussion. I am writing to you now from the Emergency Room — and speaking of medical trauma, you’re looking sharper than a page of Oscar Wilde witticisms that has been rolled up into a point, sprinkled with lemon juice and jabbed into someone’s eye. I know you’ll understand the significance, because your profile says you’re a “reader.” Were you also a Boy Scout? Because you sure have tied my heart in a knot.
It further appears that you have all that is best in life except for — dare I say it — the love of a good woman. How about me? I know I don’t look like much now, but I’m drinking milk.
I will not rest — no — I shall not recover, until I see a message from you in my inbox. Until that breathlessly anticipated event occurs, I remain
Very truly yours,