ROMANTIC.
Let me build you a heated shoe rack.
Let me arrange your pasta in order of chewiness.
Let me help you with that colouring book. I have some mauve.
Let me craft a boat that only you can sail, using those enormous underpants you wear.
Are you itchy? Let me prepare a sleeping bag full of assorted cooking oils, except for peanut oil, to which I remember you saying you’re allergic.
Let me perform for you that one-man play that I wrote for you recently but is still kind of rough-around-the-edges.
Let me book one of those retreats for you with the mud and those colonic irritations.
Let me relieve your tension with a recital of Doonesbury punchlines.
Let me show you that photo album of trees, you like trees, right?
Let me decorate your hallway with things in that colour you like that I remember the name of.
Forget about that frozen pizza and mixed leaf salad you were saving for tonight. Let me amaze you with an expensive-sounding cheese platter.
Let me find someone to rub your feet correctly and slowly.
Let me show you what love means, through the medium of writing a poem about “I love you”.
Let me lay you down on this shredded-paper mattress that I’ve been assured has no swear-words on it.
Let me read you a list of all the people who are less beautiful than you, starting with your sister.
Let me order your groceries for the week ahead by phone, using the more forceful of my two Han Solo voices.
Let me run you two baths, one for washing in and then another one for relaxing in.
Let me put down this carton of juice I’ve been drinking and play some non-confrontational jazz cassettes for you.
Let me sing you to sleep but with two kazoos, not actually singing. One of the kazoos is a bass kazoo, for the Dean Martin medley.
Let me, before you drift off, suddenly wake you up and perhaps trouble you for a second opinion on this pantaloons/bra combo.
Let me explain what happened there. First of all, what you need to know is that that’s never happened before. Please don’t look at me.
Let me arrange your pasta in order of chewiness.
Let me help you with that colouring book. I have some mauve.
Let me craft a boat that only you can sail, using those enormous underpants you wear.
Are you itchy? Let me prepare a sleeping bag full of assorted cooking oils, except for peanut oil, to which I remember you saying you’re allergic.
Let me perform for you that one-man play that I wrote for you recently but is still kind of rough-around-the-edges.
Let me book one of those retreats for you with the mud and those colonic irritations.
Let me relieve your tension with a recital of Doonesbury punchlines.
Let me show you that photo album of trees, you like trees, right?
Let me decorate your hallway with things in that colour you like that I remember the name of.
Forget about that frozen pizza and mixed leaf salad you were saving for tonight. Let me amaze you with an expensive-sounding cheese platter.
Let me find someone to rub your feet correctly and slowly.
Let me show you what love means, through the medium of writing a poem about “I love you”.
Let me lay you down on this shredded-paper mattress that I’ve been assured has no swear-words on it.
Let me read you a list of all the people who are less beautiful than you, starting with your sister.
Let me order your groceries for the week ahead by phone, using the more forceful of my two Han Solo voices.
Let me run you two baths, one for washing in and then another one for relaxing in.
Let me put down this carton of juice I’ve been drinking and play some non-confrontational jazz cassettes for you.
Let me sing you to sleep but with two kazoos, not actually singing. One of the kazoos is a bass kazoo, for the Dean Martin medley.
Let me, before you drift off, suddenly wake you up and perhaps trouble you for a second opinion on this pantaloons/bra combo.
Let me explain what happened there. First of all, what you need to know is that that’s never happened before. Please don’t look at me.
Added on May 5 2012.
Originally written and posted on Twitter, then transferred to Tumblr.
Copyright 2011 Astonishing Sod.
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