I picked my quirky 10'9 self and gathered my hair. I saw him walking over. He had his hands behind his back. Was he gong to propose? Or better, pull out Noah Beck's neck? No, I was getting ahead of myself.
Oh no, I tripped over in dog poo in my 300 year old mansion! We didn't have a dog, but we had a Nessa, which explained the poop. He stared into my eyes and reached out his hand. He smacked my face aesthetically, staining his had with the poop. My heart pounded as he licked the brown gloop off of his hand. He helped me up straight after, and only then did I realise...
