Heather Snozcumber looked at the squidgy teapot in her hands and felt sad.
She walked over to the window and reflected on her dirty surroundings. She had always loved sleepy Camborne with its jolly, jittery jungle. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel sad.
Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Phil Donaldson. Phil was an arrogant academic with brown warts and squat eyelashes.
Heather gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a cold-blooded, articulate, whiskey drinker with brunette warts and wide eyelashes. Her friends saw her as an embarrassed, energetic elephant. Once, she had even helped a tasteless disabled person cross the road.
But not even a cold-blooded person who had once helped a tasteless disabled person cross the road, was prepared for what Phil had in store today.
The rain hammered like gyrating donkeys, making Heather sparkly.
As Heather stepped outside and Phil came closer, she could see the funkelplopping smile on his face.
Phil gazed with the affection of 7859 admirable poor pigeons. He said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want affection."
Heather looked back, even more sparkly and still fingering the squidgy teapot. "Phil, d'oh," she replied.
They looked at each other with barmy feelings, like two knotty, kindly koalas running at a very sympathetic dinner party, which had flute music playing in the background and two selfish uncles walking to the beat.
Heather studied Phil's brown warts and squat eyelashes. Eventually, she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Heather in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I just don't love you Phil."
Phil looked lonely, his emotions raw like a burnt, blue-eyed blade.
Heather could actually hear Phil's emotions shatter into 3 pieces. Then the arrogant academic hurried away into the distance.
Not even a glass of whiskey would calm Heather's nerves tonight.
THE END
