I am a kitten. I have a paper to write. I have pudding. What could go wrong?
“He was full of solemn tingling, as in the old days on the morning of his first planned meeting with a new woman. The feeling was not precisely sexual. (Later, when the meetings had become routine, that was all it was.) There was an expectation of discovery, almost a spiritual expansion. Also timidity, humility, alarm.”
I’m supposed to write a paper about this short story. My professor may look at me in a whole new light afterward… eep.
No one knows the sadness of girls.