Dear Idea:
If you are shiny and new and interest me in any way, I am yours. I know I pretend to play hard to get. I act like I’m choosy about what thoughts I let into my head, and that I have, for lack of a better term, some kind of “standards.”
Truth is: I’m kind of an idea slut. And I’m down for almost anything. So make your pitch, tell me why you’re worth my time, and we’ll see what happens. If you pique my curiosity, I’m like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, “a sure thing.”
But let’s be honest here for a moment. Ideas like you come and go. We can flirt and maybe mess around a little, but if you’re looking for more, I need to know you have staying power. So here’s what you’ve got to do.
Show me that you love me. Be my dedicated stalker. Refuse to leave me alone. Call me during dinner, surprise me at the grocery story, and watch me while I sleep. Do all those things that would earn a living being a restraining order.
Please know that even as you pursue me, I will feign interests in other projects. I will say I do not have time for you and may even attempt to pawn you off onto some of my friends, but rest assured. You are making an impact.
Your persistence is magnetizing me. Related thoughts and situations and snatches of dialogue will begin sticking in my brain like iron filings, and slowly over time they will acquire mass. As I begin to group these things together, I will associate them with you: my sweet, special idea.
In addition to being dedicated to me and me alone, it helps if you’re at least a little bit fun. I want to be able to tell my wife about you (don’t worry, she’s an open-minded kind of girl) and make her laugh when I riff on one theme or another. I want her to feel like she can’t wait for me to write about you. I want to think this could really be something special, and that I can’t wait to put pages in her hand.
If you can do all those things, my dear, beautiful, wonderful idea, then chances are good that we’ll end up together, trapped inside a small, dark room, chained to a chair for hours on end, slowly bleeding the soul out of one another, just like all of history’s great romances.
Hugs and Kisses,
ME
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