By Jenny Traig
By Jenny Traig
- Sweetheart, I've got you under my skin. I'll wash and wash, but you'll never come out.
- Roses are red, violets are blue. Sugar is sweet, and I think I left the iron on.
- I'm crazy for you! Get it?
- BE MINE. Wait. That has six letters. Six letters is so unlucky. It's like YOU DIE. That's exactly what it's like. Now you're going to die and it's all my fault.
- Honey, I'm hot for you! It's like a fever. Do you think it's viral meningitis? I bet it is. I touched the light switch and who knows what germs were on there. Then I thought about you, and infected you—it's a viral brain infection, so of course it's transmitted through brain waves, that makes perfect sense. We should probably just drive to the hospital right now.
- You're all I think about. Literally!
- You and me, sitting in a tree—oh, wait, that doesn't sound very safe, does it? Let's say we're sitting on a couch instead. Huh. I wonder who sat on this couch before us. Maybe we should put some plastic wrap down. Yeah, I think we'd better. Is this a new box of plastic wrap, or has it been opened for a while? Are you sure? OK. OK. Let's just say it's new and move on. So we're sitting on a couch, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. Except that I kind of feel this tingle on my lip? Like I might be getting a cold sore? Maybe we should just forget the whole thing.
- It's hard to tell, what with all the SSRIs in my bloodstream, but I think I feel something for you.
- I'd touch you without gloves. If I could, I mean.
- I love you. Wait. That didn't feel right. Let me try it again. I love you. Don't think about disease. Don't think about disease. Don't think about disease. I love you. There.