I started to write this as a comment to your post yesterday, but I need to write more.
Please stop singing sonnets to me. I mean, I’m really flattered, but married and just not interested, so you have to stop. I’ve returned the lock of hair you sent me through UPS, tracking number 1Z998700993807300 just in case you want it back. Again, really sweet, but I can’t accept.
Also, please stop picking me flowers. A nice gesture, but since they are from my own garden it kind of ruins it. In fact, I need you to “stop professing your love” entirely. The “love geese” you sent into my backyard bit my doggy Mrs. Sparkles, I’m still picking “love confetti” out of my lawn, and the Shakespearian Wedding Frock you sent really isn’t my style.
I’m still cleaning up after the flock of wild, exotic birds you sent. And asking “my hand in marriage” on the Jumbotron at the Byron High Football Homecoming game was just embarrassing to me and the security who had to tackle you when you ran onto the field dressed as Cupid. Again, that’s all vey sweet, but I wish you would accept my thanks and move on so we can be just friends and neighbors only.
I’m changing my locks now for the third time and am begging you to please stop. I don’t want you to get arrested or have my husband murder you, please. One day you’ll meet a great girl who will be absolutely perfect for you and in love with you. A girl who likes it when a man dresses as a knight and offers to escort her to work while wearing a pair of panties he stole from her drawer the day before, but right now, that girl is not me.
P.S. I’m also returning the copy of The Notebook you sent me with our pictures cut out and put over the faces of Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams.