The other night, after a thoughtful and intelligent discussion of our lives (called each other nerds and discussed Xander Harris), I took a girl out to dinner (as long as you're willing to accept that it was neither a date, nor was it a restaurant). She, naturally, couldn't leave me alone for an instant (due, possibly, to the lack of excitement to be found standing alone in a dark train station lobby) and admitted, on the train ride home, that I had rocked her world (by revealing the existence of plushy porn and causing her to feel repulsed in ways no other had ever managed). She admitted to having "feelings" (about plushies)
Life can be good, so long as you know where to cut the sentences.