As you approach my little apartment, I putter around, making sure everything’s prepared.
I’ve butterflies in my stomach, but I shouldn’t. Everything ought to go according to plan.
I’ve bought wine and cinnabon, which I know you’d been craving. I’ve set aside DVD’s you’ll want to watch, by candlelight, and tomorrow we’ve a movie to see.
While downtown, under city hall, the timer on my newest weapon ticks inexorably down.
I’ve prepared every detail, tried to become the perfect host, but I’m still nervous. I can’t help asking:
Can I keep you distracted enough to fail to foil my scheme?