Shall I Compare Thee To Neurosis?

A Wall Street millionaire dates a lost soul (fiction)

To: brad@starry.net
From: veronica@netzero.com
Monday, July 7, 3:29 a.m.

Hi Brad,

How’s your back? Is it any better than last night? Did the heating pad help? I’ve got this thingey that I sometimes put under my legs that help. It looks like one of those cigar-shaped UFOs they all talk about on the Travel Channel. Except that it’s tan, instead of black or brown and doesn’t have any curves and the end like those peppermint Tic-Tacs® {It’s registered trademark, so don’t give me any shit about it} you love ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Lemme know if you want it.

Do you remember the time when we went to Monticello to see Jefferson’s old pad? (Okay, he was a bad guy, he owned slaves and stuff, but he was really smart and invented this polygraph thing, you know like that did a copy of every letter he wrote as he was writing it??? And he recorded temperatures and rainfalls for daily for like 30 years or something like that. So we know that it rained a quarter inch in Virginia in on April 18, 1899 — or something like that.) Whatever.

But which really brings me to my point anyway. April 18 is our anniversary. Yeah!!! Yeah!!! Yeah!!! Did I say “Yeah?” Ha, ha. It’s coming up, you know … You know what that Mr. Darcy says about his affections!: “IF YOUR FEELINGS ARE STILL WHAT THEY WERE LAST APRIL TELL ME SO AT ONCE. MY AFFECTIONS AND WISHES…