I was hanging out by the sandbox when I met a cute boy. He called me "Madame" and kept me well-stocked with handfuls of chocolate- and chicken-flavored sand. When I had to go, he took my hand and led me back to the sandbox, insisting that I was still hungry. When I really had to go, he brushed the sand and debris from the back of my skirt (an intimate gesture, to be sure). When I went, he called after me, "Madame, come back!", and playground bench-sitters chuckled at his youthful passion. But I, I mourned for the early demise of such a kind and gentle love.
He was a good cook, too.
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