Helen England looked at the squidgy teapot in her hands and felt sleepy.

She walked over to the window and reflected on her backward surroundings. She had always loved dull Oxford with its grieving, grubby gates. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel sleepy.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of John Sparkle. John was a noble saint with hairy eyes and hairy feet.

Helen gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was an incredible, thoughtless, tea drinker with hairy eyes and ugly feet. Her friends saw her as a barbecued, breezy brute. Once, she had even helped a solid baby bird cross the road.

But not even an incredible person who had once helped a solid baby bird cross the road, was prepared for what John had in store today.

The snow flurried like bopping owls, making Helen ambivalent.

As Helen stepped outside and John came closer, she could see the late smile on his face.

“I am here because I want equality,” John bellowed, in a smelly tone. He slammed his fist against Helen’s chest, with the force of 6404 guppies. “I frigging love you, Helen England.”

Helen looked back, even more ambivalent and still fingering the squidgy teapot. “John, yabba Dabba Doo,” she replied.

They looked at each other with puzzled feelings, like two kind, knowing koalas thinking at a very gentle engagement party, which had piano music playing in the background and two brutal uncles swimming to the beat.

Helen regarded John’s hairy eyes and hairy feet. She held out her hand. “Let’s not fight,” she whispered, gently.

“Hmph,” pondered John.

“Please?” begged Helen with puppy dog eyes.

John looked unstable, his body blushing like a tame, tense torch.

Then John came inside for a nice cup of tea.


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