(found under a pile of maize and blue)
I think that’s your name. I hope it is, anyway. I really hope it is.
I think I should introduce myself. My name is Charles. A lot of people call me Charlie, and some call me Charlie Brown. A lot more would call me Charlie Brown if they knew I still existed.
There are two things you need to know about me before anything else.
First of all, I have one of those faces. People recognize me. People recognize me all the time, but they just don’t remember who I am or how they know me. Sometimes these people actually have never met me. They just, through some strange circumstance, have an ability to recognize me out of the blue. But then there are others I know and have had conversations with about the weather or the football game or something like that, but they don’t know me either. They recognize me, but they never know me.
I only shrug.
Second of all, I used to pitch in Little League baseball. I was an alright pitcher, not great and not terrible either. I was really accurate as a pitcher. I could throw the ball exactly where I wanted it, place it – thoughtfully – anywhere on the plate. But I could never throw it hard. I could never throw it fast. I had no fireball. I had no heat.
I ended up striking a lot people out, though. They’d always swing hard – way, way ahead of the pitch – and the ball would just float right past. I think it just confused them.
And no matter what happened in the game, I’d sulk off the mound. I’d sulk almost anywhere, I guess, but I’d sulk off the mound, and my coach would tell me to smile. I have a lot of childhood memories that end with people telling me to smile.
So it’s no big deal, really, but I wanted to tell you that you’re just a nice person. Maybe it’s weird, but it’s no big deal, so don’t worry about it. I just wanted to let you know that I really do find you attractive and that I really cannot stop looking at you when you come into a room, if that makes any sense. I hope it doesn’t bother you, but I just couldn’t keep this to myself.