The Remarkable Sylvia Day
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She's the kind of girl that walks up to you as you stand on the corner of sixty fifth and Amsterdam, while you try to determine if the cross town bus is coming any time soon or if you should just catch a cab, and tells you upfront that, "You're cute. I'm not flirting, I'm just stating the facts. You're cute and I like you and I'm cute, so I think you should like me too so we can be cute together. This is not a come on, I judge cuteness by personality and you are simply oozing - ew ooze - simply emitting - I've lost track. Anyhow I like your shoes. I can't wear rain boots because then I have to step in every puddle and my friends get mad waiting for me and I don't like to deal with the drama. My name's Sylvia, by the way, but you don't have to remember that. I probably won't remember your name so you don't have to tell me but you can if you want. Just don't get mad if I don't remember. Or you can, I can't tell you what to do, but be fair warned I put no stock in names so I probably won't even try. I like geography. Where're you from? I'm sorry, I'm monologuing again."
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