Your comment freaked me out. In case you were drunk and don't remember what you said, allow me to remind you:
I promise on earth, but in Heaven Above? Whoa. We will weep. The gloriousness of what I'm propos'n to you here is beyond gorgeousness. Lemme asketh of thee a favour, a favour in the Great Beyond. Not here, not now, of course. But, yet, would you allow SIX things in Heaven just between us? Feeding you delicious baklava? Giving you a looong backrub? Brush'n your hair? Kissing your adorable feet which brot you to the Great Beyond? Holding your hands and being one with you? I’d love that and I think you would, too. Think about that. Get back to me Upstairs, girl. God bless.
I hate to break it to you, but if Heaven and the requirements for entrance are anything like what I've been taught, there's a chance I might not make it there. I'm holding out hope that the rules for getting in are a bit more lax and that I'll get to be one of the cool kids just because I try hard to be a good person, but we'll see. That said, I don't like baklava. I don't want a back rub, my hair brushed, my feet kissed or for you to hold my hand. I don't want you to be one with me. I would not love that. I've thought about it. I don't believe in leading men on, so I'm letting you know my feelings on the topic here and now. No need to discuss it further, now or at a later date.
And if I ever change my mind about Heaven or baklava or back rubs or hair brushing or feet kissing or hand holding, I'm sorry to inform you that the position has been filled and I won't be interviewing any additional candidates. Thank you for your interest, and I wish you luck in your future endeavors.
And your name (cold cadaver flatliner? WTF?) scares me and makes me glad you don't live closer. I'm desperately trying to remember every post I've made that alluded to my home and where I live and hoping that I've not inadvertently given you directions. If I have, please disregard that oversight on my part.
With that said, thanks for the follow! Please don't kill me!