Love Hurts Mathematically.
Extravanganza, behold! Or, something else...
Aaron was ecstatic with the upcoming date he and Trixie would share the day after. He finAlly would come to shine and show himself worthy of being the fledgling of his protégé...or some thing even deeper than any word could ever obtain worthy saying.
That night, he prepared his best Italian suit; an apparel consisting the elements of genuine leather, a mantra of white stripes flowing from the top collar to the hem, travestric suede pants, and even a white choker to sport a more grownup look.
Trixie was preparing for the night as well. She chose a lovely magenta dress with the detail casting such illusion it looked like scarves sewn together. The waistline was latched with a purple satin bow, and two silver silken gloves.
Now they look like the all-American couple, don't they?
Alas, the night was beautiful. The stars pristinely glittered in the sky, brushed by a palette of fleshy silhouettes of trees, algid wind breathed through the earth with adrenaline and excitement blending with the warrens of passion and unclassified romance in the air.
Aaron waited by her door, in his best suit and in shades even when the night was still young. He was sweating so profusely, as if the spate of ultraviolet petards of the sun's rays sparked to neurotic bombs cannonading nervousness.
Pacing the asphalt ground, Aaron awaited of Trixie's marvelous élan that night, knowing her savoir-fare was as beautiful as her complexion--from Aaron's reference, at least. What else would explain roses and a satin box of chocolates?
At last, t'was did Trixie show up that night...and she was mystifying. (Well, as Aaron saw it, at the least.) Her whole pulchritudinous aura glowed with a limelight greater than the corona of the sun. Golden eyes sparkled under the night's Rays of moonbeams.
She was absolutely distilling.
Aaron, now a man of few words, exclaimed in such a unanimously mesmerized tone, "Wow...you look nice in pink, Trixie."
"It's MAGENTA, Aaron," Trixie rolled her eyes, as if she knew the color wheel inside out--please, she couldn't even gain an A+ without the surplus of even Van Gogh's expertise.
"Sorry...under this light, it looks like Carnation Pink," Aaron blushed to a full pink, in refection of her dress.
"Come, you old bag. We must go." Trixie tugged his arm as they headed for the car.
To this reaction, Aaron's frame froze. Damn, that's hot...
~
~
The two lovebirds spent the evening soiree in an extravagant restaurant, adorned roof to floor with satin velvet red carpet suede. The whole restaurant buzzed with beauty as ostensible people of prestigious renouncement filled the whole aura with profession.
A crystal-drop ornament suspended from the ceiling, frail and fragile as it glistened in its still-bleeding pride, manifested the apse of the whole shindig. Romance and affinity in every step of the edifice, as illustrated by Aaron’s constant gazes at Trixie.
“Where are our reserved seats?” Trixie whined in a nasal tone, leaving Aaron in abashment. Who wouldn’t forget to reserve seats? Oh no… Aaron thought. Trixie would abhor of him if he didn’t even reserve them seats!
“I didn’t reserve any…” Aaron replied in disdain. His petrified obscurity wilted his joy. So much for having Trixie, right?
Trixie sighed in bitter annoyance. “Fine. Let’s just sit here. A demitasse won’t do bad…I guess.”
Aaron quietly slipped into his seat as a waiter randomly flashed toward their table. “Would you like anything sir? Madam?”
Aaron jousted much verbal articulation when asked this. “GREAT. I’d like some demitasse, some of this rib-eye steak, a soufflé, some pasta…”
Trixie couldn’t stand this undying riveting mantra of words. “Get me whatever he’s getting…” She mumbled.
The waiter grimaced primly to them, awaiting maybe, a bonus on his salary? He strolled off to the back to get them their meal. Trixie was insufferably hungry as Aaron was staring at her, still mesmerized by her eyes flickering with marvelous intellect.
By the time their food was prepared, the waiter’s presumption of being such a chore that could easily bag top-dollar was getting out of it’s proper proportion. You see, at his beginning stage, he still didn’t master carrying such a massive load of food.
Yes, Aaron and Trixie probably did order too much, causing a massive load of food flying in the air as the waiter slipped off his feet on accident. And it was such an awe-bearing sight!
Quantities of food were dispersing from their platters and hurling into the customers! Spaghetti, chicken and roasted turkey plunged into the hair, legs, arms, and abdominal areas of some certain senators in the country! Movie stars were coated in Jell-o and beer!
A couple of musicians were aimlessly defeated by the servings upon servings of lettuce, tomato, and salad dressing—they came out looking quite delicious, in fact. Some more random people were infused with the flavors of sundaes; they smelt of berries and cream!
This all got so horrible and tragic, there was hardly a person who made it all without getting food in their hair! This ended in a climactic halt summoned by Aaron’s unanimous words: “FOOD FIGHT!” Of course it was worse!
Tomatoes, potatoes, bananas, carrots, onions, and sautéed fish flew into the air! Crabs, lobsters, sushi, even more fish, and rice allured the room with a seafood culting aroma. Identities of uncommon tastes were spawned from every flick and whack and spin and…
Wouldn’t you love to see that?
Trixie ducked for her life, dodging pies, crème brulẻs, soufflés, brownies, sundaes, pot roasts, steaks, pastas, and an unstoppable fiasco of satirical beauty—the refreshments in the form of precipitation.
“YOU FUCKING NITWIT! RETREAT! THEY’LL MURDER YOU!” Trixie tackled Aaron and it sent him sprawling into the ground. All adrenaline and activity was searing the amounts of their breath—how could they survive?
~
~
~
In the end, the waiter was fired; Aaron was fined with a job to clean up all the mess he caused that night, and he never found out Trixie’s true love for him. Well, in the end, at least they got to spend the rest of the evening at the bay.
Seagulls reined the skies, the silver moonlight rested upon the velvet reflections of the horizon and flattering the thousands of mirrors lounging onto the water’s surface. Trixie’s anger was tamed—at least. Aaron couldn’t desist but to love this—after all, it was with Trixie.
That night, he prepared his best Italian suit; an apparel consisting the elements of genuine leather, a mantra of white stripes flowing from the top collar to the hem, travestric suede pants, and even a white choker to sport a more grownup look.
Trixie was preparing for the night as well. She chose a lovely magenta dress with the detail casting such illusion it looked like scarves sewn together. The waistline was latched with a purple satin bow, and two silver silken gloves.
Now they look like the all-American couple, don't they?
Alas, the night was beautiful. The stars pristinely glittered in the sky, brushed by a palette of fleshy silhouettes of trees, algid wind breathed through the earth with adrenaline and excitement blending with the warrens of passion and unclassified romance in the air.
Aaron waited by her door, in his best suit and in shades even when the night was still young. He was sweating so profusely, as if the spate of ultraviolet petards of the sun's rays sparked to neurotic bombs cannonading nervousness.
Pacing the asphalt ground, Aaron awaited of Trixie's marvelous élan that night, knowing her savoir-fare was as beautiful as her complexion--from Aaron's reference, at least. What else would explain roses and a satin box of chocolates?
At last, t'was did Trixie show up that night...and she was mystifying. (Well, as Aaron saw it, at the least.) Her whole pulchritudinous aura glowed with a limelight greater than the corona of the sun. Golden eyes sparkled under the night's Rays of moonbeams.
She was absolutely distilling.
Aaron, now a man of few words, exclaimed in such a unanimously mesmerized tone, "Wow...you look nice in pink, Trixie."
"It's MAGENTA, Aaron," Trixie rolled her eyes, as if she knew the color wheel inside out--please, she couldn't even gain an A+ without the surplus of even Van Gogh's expertise.
"Sorry...under this light, it looks like Carnation Pink," Aaron blushed to a full pink, in refection of her dress.
"Come, you old bag. We must go." Trixie tugged his arm as they headed for the car.
To this reaction, Aaron's frame froze. Damn, that's hot...
~
~
The two lovebirds spent the evening soiree in an extravagant restaurant, adorned roof to floor with satin velvet red carpet suede. The whole restaurant buzzed with beauty as ostensible people of prestigious renouncement filled the whole aura with profession.
A crystal-drop ornament suspended from the ceiling, frail and fragile as it glistened in its still-bleeding pride, manifested the apse of the whole shindig. Romance and affinity in every step of the edifice, as illustrated by Aaron’s constant gazes at Trixie.
“Where are our reserved seats?” Trixie whined in a nasal tone, leaving Aaron in abashment. Who wouldn’t forget to reserve seats? Oh no… Aaron thought. Trixie would abhor of him if he didn’t even reserve them seats!
“I didn’t reserve any…” Aaron replied in disdain. His petrified obscurity wilted his joy. So much for having Trixie, right?
Trixie sighed in bitter annoyance. “Fine. Let’s just sit here. A demitasse won’t do bad…I guess.”
Aaron quietly slipped into his seat as a waiter randomly flashed toward their table. “Would you like anything sir? Madam?”
Aaron jousted much verbal articulation when asked this. “GREAT. I’d like some demitasse, some of this rib-eye steak, a soufflé, some pasta…”
Trixie couldn’t stand this undying riveting mantra of words. “Get me whatever he’s getting…” She mumbled.
The waiter grimaced primly to them, awaiting maybe, a bonus on his salary? He strolled off to the back to get them their meal. Trixie was insufferably hungry as Aaron was staring at her, still mesmerized by her eyes flickering with marvelous intellect.
By the time their food was prepared, the waiter’s presumption of being such a chore that could easily bag top-dollar was getting out of it’s proper proportion. You see, at his beginning stage, he still didn’t master carrying such a massive load of food.
Yes, Aaron and Trixie probably did order too much, causing a massive load of food flying in the air as the waiter slipped off his feet on accident. And it was such an awe-bearing sight!
Quantities of food were dispersing from their platters and hurling into the customers! Spaghetti, chicken and roasted turkey plunged into the hair, legs, arms, and abdominal areas of some certain senators in the country! Movie stars were coated in Jell-o and beer!
A couple of musicians were aimlessly defeated by the servings upon servings of lettuce, tomato, and salad dressing—they came out looking quite delicious, in fact. Some more random people were infused with the flavors of sundaes; they smelt of berries and cream!
This all got so horrible and tragic, there was hardly a person who made it all without getting food in their hair! This ended in a climactic halt summoned by Aaron’s unanimous words: “FOOD FIGHT!” Of course it was worse!
Tomatoes, potatoes, bananas, carrots, onions, and sautéed fish flew into the air! Crabs, lobsters, sushi, even more fish, and rice allured the room with a seafood culting aroma. Identities of uncommon tastes were spawned from every flick and whack and spin and…
Wouldn’t you love to see that?
Trixie ducked for her life, dodging pies, crème brulẻs, soufflés, brownies, sundaes, pot roasts, steaks, pastas, and an unstoppable fiasco of satirical beauty—the refreshments in the form of precipitation.
“YOU FUCKING NITWIT! RETREAT! THEY’LL MURDER YOU!” Trixie tackled Aaron and it sent him sprawling into the ground. All adrenaline and activity was searing the amounts of their breath—how could they survive?
~
~
~
In the end, the waiter was fired; Aaron was fined with a job to clean up all the mess he caused that night, and he never found out Trixie’s true love for him. Well, in the end, at least they got to spend the rest of the evening at the bay.
Seagulls reined the skies, the silver moonlight rested upon the velvet reflections of the horizon and flattering the thousands of mirrors lounging onto the water’s surface. Trixie’s anger was tamed—at least. Aaron couldn’t desist but to love this—after all, it was with Trixie.
♠ ♠ ♠
FinAlly, I updated! ^^Matt's next. :tehe: