Chandelier

The fearsome chinstraps of Norwegian goat-herders haunt our dreams and nightmares. We have used our final spanners, and now the dark days are upon us. What else can we do, except alter our clocks back to Badger-Implicating time once more and cower in our fearful riding boots? The world must never again know such dark days as these.

I shall walk away now, and I will forget your knees and the precise way you would lay various seashells on them just for me, only for me.

We could have become lovers, if only I had held my copy of the Karma-Sutra the correct way up. Instead, we became a specialist contortionist act performing at Intimate Private Parties For Consenting Adults Only.

It all went quite well, up until that evening when a retired colonel mistook you for a chandelier and tried to change your light bulbs. I must admit, though, I was quite impressed by your response. One would have thought that a military man, even a retired military man, would be prepared for the possibility of a surprise attack.

Apparently, according to one of the maids I met later, he was still rolling around in agony on the floor nearly three hours after you had disabused him of his error, and even now, he cannot bear to be in a room containing decorative light fittings without a chaperone.