By M.I Abaga
My Dearest Agbani Darego,
Will you be my valentine?
Do give this the utmost consideration. If you will be my valentine, let me say that I am, first, of all men most privileged, and second, about to engage in heavy research about what being someone’s valentine actually entails.
If you will not be my valentine, I must assume this is only because you would prefer me to ask you to marry me. If so, poste haste and with rapidity in extremis, I would, My Sweet-ling desire your hand- and as much of the rest of you as possible -in blissful matrimony.
But wait. I traverse ahead of myself. I have not introduced myself. Sure I have spent many hours ogling over your Instagram photos and following you closely on Twitter, but I have never, as it were, had the opportunity of introducing myself.
I am The Editor.
Ah, My Lollipop, I can see your sad smile now. You are shaking your head, wondering if I am just another one of those men struck by your beauty and effortless grace.
Yes, it is true I am one of those men, but if I might add, I am even more awestruck by your beauty. There is no hope for me.
Marry me, My Cupcake.
Consider the advantages. I have discussed them below.
My Fondant, If you marry me, you will be fully protected in the event of a Zombie Apocalypse. I have watched Walking Dead (Seasons 1 and 2), and every zombie movie there is. I know how to finish them off (destroy the brain), how to stay alive (Run like hell) and how not to get slowed down by unnecessary hangers on. (I know so much, I am in fact publishing a simple handbook on this very subject called “Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse” available in stores shortly. You will of course, get a free signed copy.)
Secondly, the possibility exists that with your incredibly beautiful genes, and my deeply rooted interests in you, our offspring could be the very first of the race of super intelligent and super powerful humans. I can see it now: Junior finds the cure for cancer. His sister brings about world peace. You and I will bask in parental pride, secure in the knowledge that our union has benefited the world immensely. As I said, the possibility exists.
Thirdly, You will never have to worry about me going off to be an astronaut or being called off on some secret government mission to topple some enemy regime. I won’t even join the Bolivian Army. I suppose these are some of the first things you worry about when you a potential suitor approaches. Rest your lovely head at ease, My Peppermint stick, I will do none of these things.
Have you seen Les Miserables yet? I’m only asking because I haven’t and everyone is going on and on about it.
My Sweetest Sugarplum, I know we have a lot to figure out, but let us ignore the little details of whether you love me or whether you want to get married at all or whether you will be able to stand me. You must believe me when I say those are minor details.
Say you will be my valentine, that is all I ask.
And if you cannot grant that, grant me your personage in marriage.
And if that proves impossible, could I please have your phone number, house address and your word that you will never ever ever take out a restraining order against me?
Thank you, My Strawberry Tart.
Yours Infinitely,
The Editor
This is dummy text. It is not meant to be read. Accordingly, it is difficult to figure out when to end it. But then, this is dummy text. It is not meant to be read. Period.
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