I have seen one, kipepeo actually met you - that must be a good omen.

Apari yako? Umeamkeko fisuri?

@Nope, Its public knowledge that Maka is afraid of commitment and prefers to pay for sex or have one night stands

Good afternoon Ms. Butterfly, May I have this dance?

"SEE, HOW SHE LEANS HER CHEEK UPON HER HAND!

O, THAT I WERE A GLOVE UPON THAT HAND,

THAT I MIGHT TOUCH THAT CHEEK!"


Sir William Shakespeare in Romeo and Juliet

Such is the profound pity that poetry is wasted on you.

I suggest that you have a look at post number sixty-six on this LINK:

Of particular note is the Citizen clapping in appreciation. Indulge me, if you may.

Hi @Butterflyke hope your well....;-)

It is one of those afternoons at the office. Work is a painful drudgery. Your Boss is moody. Moreover, those mind leeches at The Virtual Republic are running a thread about you.

On an impulse, you walk into your supervisor’s office and ask for a couple hours away from your desk to clear a headache. Bless her noble soul for she says “Okay, but clear your in-tray folder before you leave for the day”. “Yes Ma’am” you murmur back.

You pass by MaheGoat’s office and tell him you will be out for a couple of hours. Could he look after your traffic? You coo. He turns briefly from his screen, peers at you over his reading glasses and mumbles “fine”. He turns back and starts hitting the keyboard furiously.

The salon is almost deserted, you note with pleasure. The stewardesses fuss all over you, glad they have a client during off-peak hours. The towels are crisp, fresh and have that sweet scent of freshly washed linen.

One steward gives your hair a slow and thorough wash, deeply messaging your head for longer than normal. She has all the time in the world and you love every second of it. Your favourite dryer is free, the one over the pink leather chair you adore.

Finally, another steward touches and pats your hair into shape, you pay up and it is time to head back to the office, you note with a sigh. Again, you pass by MaheGoat’s office and inquire about your traffic.

“Nothing much” he mumbles as he turns to peek at you over his glasses. Then he pauses. He gives you a second take. Then asks: Did I tell you this morning that I like your hair? A warm glow of glee crawls up your spine. “No” you say haughtily. “Ms. Butterfly” he says. “I love your hair, I really do.”

Ms. Butterfly, I enjoy cooking my meat but I have one major challenge. Every time I cut my onions, I cry a river.

However, all the Ladies I have observed over the years cutting onions never shed a tear.

Would you be so kind and let me in on the trick?

You will have a lovely evening, won’t you?

You laughed! You smiled! In my mind, the best part of your laughter and your smile is the double sunshine of those two lovely dimples. They rock my world.