Hibernation has reached its state of termination and as well has ended dreams’ epopee of streaming salmons under starlit skies after noons of honey buzzers and, so, now, it is time for new adventures after a morning’s epic pee. ; )

Oh, Ellie, some may call you a taupie, but I know you are just a dreamer and that having your head in the clouds makes you not bird-brained as much as it makes you—to us, your inspired family of believers—herd-gained. ; )

To you, I will only open up if you broach topics other than beauty and bod, never gift me a brooch of bronze, and refrain from approaching courageously by way of a bottle abroach.

Why of course, Ms. Mew, the maître d’ did already establish homologation regarding your request of a table for one—half in the shade and half in the sun. ; )

Indeed, until each date has concluded with a beach-side stroll upon your shoulders—because heels are not for sandy feels—and the distance over which we ambulate is, at minimum, equal to a bovate, you shall receive no goodnight kiss from this miss as the right mate will be worth the wait for loves’ fate. ; )