If she's spent time in my dreams, she'd have no doubt. If a girl's just strolling along minding her own business, and then suddenly the ground turns into lukewarm pistachio custard while singing Pop-Tarts go flying overheard in a formation that spells out "Welcome to the Subconscious Brain of Capt. X -- Please Refrain From Spitting, Littering, Or Inspiring Any Semi-Rational Thoughts During Your Stay Here," she'd have a tough time not noticing that something is amiss.
Exactly why a bizarre experience like that would convince her she's my perfect match is beyond me, but who can explain the mysteries of love? I know I sure can't. I haven't done anywhere near enough field studies on the subject. (I'm always auditioning new research assistants, though, so if you're a youngish, intelligent woman interested in furthering the higher aims of science, come on over anytime and see just what a big mistake you can make by responding to demented 'net postings! References not required, lack of worrying personal neurosis preferred.) |
