Hello, Peter. May I call you Peter? Whenever I ask you this in my head, you say that I can call you anything I like, and wink roguishly. Of course, I am more than willing to call you “sir”, if you would prefer.
In my first year of study I had the delight of being in your CELS191 lectures, and oh boy, did you get my gametes excited or what. I’d sit a few rows from the front, close enough to see the lights of the lecture hall glint sexily off your spectacles, surrounding your face in a radiance I thought only an angel could possess, but far enough away that my giggles of infatuation could not be heard.
I tried to make my BA friends come to lectures with me so that they could hear your delicious voice utter its cries of “Craig Venter is a wanker!” You don’t need to be a wanker, Pete. My body is willing. I sat there, my raucous laughs at your brilliant jokes disguising my bosom, which heaved with a passion so heavy I sometimes thought I’d be unable to walk. I might have stumbled with the weight of it, and fallen against the button-up shirt that concealed your Adonis bod, accidentally tearing it. I might have fallen to the ground in front of you, and my legs might have accidentally fallen apart, or something. Accidents happen, sometimes repeatedly.
Of course, I understand that objectifying someone to such a sexy degree without respect for who they are as a person is wrong. It really is, and those who think such nasty, hot thoughts should be flayed in the groin for their disrespect of the mind within. That is why I feel it necessary to point out that your mind is a thing of beauty. It is a biological supercomputer in a room full of hamster ovaries; an aura so strong, hippies are repelled at 200 metres; it is an entity worthy of respect, if not full-blown worship.
It is not mere lust that drives me to your office window at night, hoping to find body fluids for sequencing/cloning. It is respect. Respect for the brilliance that resides within your bonus body. May you be reproductively successful, Mr Dearden, for your loins possess a random assortment of some seriously advantageous traits.
P.S. I saw you with Tony once. Are you friends? Are you more than friends? If not, could you be?
P.P.S. Did you get the haiku I wrote on your evaluation form?
LILF
