Dear Abigail, I Would Like If You Joined Me For Tea

[dropcap]A[/dropcap]s a preliminary caution to dating I am humbled by the idea of failure. I envision how I will fail in my dishonest approach to courting thy mare of interest.  I’m nervous, anxiety ridden and not like you are. I mean in some instances I faint—black out—head injury—no lights—e.g. my first encounter with chlamydia. I received news of the curable non-threatening STD via phone from a lady figure. I immediately panicked and the forced increase or lack of serotonin took me flailing onto the floor like some sort of toddler attempting to embark upon his first steps. I’m paranoid and I dwell on the past while simultaneously fearing both the present and the future. I lack self-discipline, and not in the submissive masochistic bedroom kink self discipline way that you crave. I am uninterested in fornication. I just want to sleep. I dream when I’m awake. I am not lovable. I overcompensate for these undesirable traits by projecting my voice louder than normal in public settings.

I’m a soft talker Monday through Friday but on the weekends with a few mickeys in me I speak with a hypothetical mega phone attached to my flapping jowls. I’m loud and unapproachable, I fidget, I’m uncomfortable when looking you in the eyes and I feel undervalued by your circle of “friends.” Hell, I feel inadequate in my circle of friends and I don’t even show them my penis. I’m broke, pushing 30 and self medicate my obscure brain patterns with Paxil and pot. I’m not a fan of nature and yes I do mind if your Chihuahuas sleep in bed with us.

I’m not waking up with you at 6am to go for a walk. Chances are I’ll be sleeping midway through your work shift. I’m quirky in a bad way—the sort of way that affects my bowls—seriously. I can’t escape the wretched voice inside my head telling me I could do better than my peers if I could only overcome my insatiable desire for voyeurism. I vicariously live my life through Vincent D’Onofrio’s character on Law and Order: Criminal Intent. I share none of your interests. I hate that movie. I’m a music snob in the worst way possible. I don’t listen to what you like for the sake of argument and I certainly don’t recommend you criticize my taste.

My ego bruises easily and for most of my life I’ve chewed on my pride unable to swallow the most miniscule piece of it. I can’t stand the fact that your ex has better hair than me.

I would love if you would join me for tea this afternoon, but most likely I will flake.
I don’t know what love is but I will proclaim my love for you until you’re convinced the feeling is mutual.
I’m a compulsive liar.

Sincerely,

Leonard Charmichael

P.S.

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”

Sonnet 116
 
William Shakespeare

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