You think that I don't know you read this. I write this message for you, precisely to horrify you. My intention is to burn bridges. See, here's the thing: if you ever were posessed to sleep with me, I would cancel my flight. I would postpone Scotland to stay here in L.A. to woo you over, because I think you're beautiful and amazing.
It is precisely for that reason that I deliberately come across as needy and frantic (and I probably am, but that's not the point). So long as you won't touch me with a ten-foot pole, I must go to Scotland. And deep, deep down, I know that is probably best.
(And lest you gloat in your superiority, know this: my short list includes no less than five boys. Nonetheless, you are five out of a million.)
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