I Am a Double Agent for Love

Went to my pal Doug's birthday party the other night. He has (and many of his friends have) kids and the kids were invited.

Because of how I am, I spent most of my evening with the vodkas and tonics and the kids.

At one point, I was invited upstairs to see the Lego "drop ships" Doug's son had constructed. We were quickly followed by the three other boys at the party, who had factionalized against the girls and were determined to find weapons and armor.

"What team are you on?" I was asked.

"I'm on the girls team," said I "I'm not a moron."

"What team are you on?" and a Nerf brand machine gun was pointed at my face.

"Boys team. Boys team," said I.

I asked what the plan was. The tallest of them said it was to write a Valentine to Doug's daughter. I told him it seemed like a good plan. He had construction paper and a pencil. I looked over his shoulder while he composed his message. The other boys were busy strapping whatever plastic items they could find to their chests and arms.

Here, with his name changed to protect his dignity, is the entirety of what the tall boy wrote in his Valentine:

Kevin Like Pie
Kevin Like Pie
Kevin Like Pie
Kevin Like Pie
Kevin Like Pie
Kevin Like Pie

I mentioned to him about a job I thought he would be well suited for as the winter custodian of the Overlook Hotel, but he was too engrossed by the elaborate folding and packaging his Valentine then required.

Later, after refilling my vodka tonic and rejoining the girl's team (as I said - not a moron), I asked Doug's daughter how the Valentine had played. She pitched her head forward, slumped her shoulders, dropped the tip of the sword she was carrying to the ground, rolled her eyes as hard as she possible could and said in her most exasperated tone:

"I just threw it away."

I told her that it was probably for the best, as he seemed rather disturbed. I suggested the possibility to her that "Pie" was a cipher for her and that he was wooing her with metaphor. She cocked her head at me and gave me an expression of impatience and disbelief.

"He's an idiot," she said.

"You realize that this is like a microcosm of the next fifteen years of his life, right?"

"I don't care. All he wrote was 'I Like Pie'. Ugh."

"Yeah, you're right I suppose," I conceded, "but go easy on him, okay?"

She just rolled her eyes again and went back to the living room to collect the Nerf gun that someone had carelessly left unattended on the sofa.