Although I have yet to find you, I can see clearly our love’s evolution. I will see you across the room and think “She has great skin; like a baby. A hot, adult baby” and use my patented approach:

“My friend and I were just talking about the movie House Party and we can’t remember who played Bilal. Do you know?”

You will not. But it will merely act as a segue into my next question:

“Do you like to party? Because you look like you like to party.”

Which will eventually lead to a casual inquiry as to your relationship status:

“You have a nice face, I hope your boyfriend doesn’t punch it when he’s angry.”

On our first date, when you are in the bathroom, I will eat the flower in the middle of the table to freshen my breath. When you ask about it I will lie and say there was never a flower there and ask you accusingly what you were doing for so long in the bathroom. When the bill comes I will pay with a credit card so you will not see how little I tip.

Months later we will go camping together, and have our first argument. I will want to keep food in the tent overnight in case I get hungry, and you will say we need to string it up in the tree to keep it from bears. I will laugh in your face, then accidentally spill broccoli soup all over you in the middle of the night. For the rest of the trip I will keep saying, “Look out! It’s a bear!” and laugh in your face.

In the next week we will have our second through eighth arguments. Four of them will be about Dane Cook.

Eventually I will meet your parents. They will find me charming, but visibly stiffen when I refer to you by your pet name: Sausage Blossom.

When you break up with me I will beg you to reconsider, and email you a picture of a puppy with my face superimposed over its face to re-endear myself to you. When that doesn’t work, I will send a new picture each week, with my superimposed face getting increasingly severe. Months later your new boyfriend will come to my house and threaten to hurt me if I don’t leave you alone. I will spray mace in his eyes and then in my own eyes to cover my scared tears with mace tears.

I'm sorry it will have to end this way, but I look forward to meeting you.

Yours,

Scott Vrooman

www.scottvrooman.org

www.picnicface.com