‘We’ve tarried too long. Maybe she changed her mind…’ said the The White Shirt Dude.

And the Boy With Ears Sticking Out of His Head offered: ‘Hold your fantod, she’s most likely lost the agility of her car due to traffic buildups. Besides, you have been rhapsodizing about this girl for weeks on end and I will bear not another minute of it. Might as well get it over with.’

‘We must absquatulate. This meeting’s excitement has dropped dead sixty-seven minutes ago; and I need to pee,’ said The White Shirt Dude, heedless of the other’s reason.

‘Whatever happened to the incunabulum of love that you so hastily concluded to govern your faculties over …this stranger?,’ accused the Boy With Ears Sticking Out of His Head.

‘I’ve known her since I was three,’ was the steady reply.

And on his mind, he knew it was a half-truth. The Thing Sandwiched By His Lungs, though, was whispering a different story.

‘Bullcrap. You knew her when you were three; maybe just for a day, or an hour in that long bulldozed-over playground… You knew her then. And what of the span from that day to today, what of the teeth you’ve lost & gotten from then to now? Or the armpit hair you’ve tended since pubertal season, what of it? Ah, you are relentless. She’s a stranger is what she is.’ leave it to his friend, the Boy With Ears Sticking Out of His Head, to bitch-slap him with the sullen fact.

The Truth is that a friend of a friend’s cousin had an officemate who partied once with the roommate of the The Girl in the Sandbox and so as Artificial Intelligence is at work with the social networking sites, it ’suggested a friend’ to The White Shirt Dude.

The White Shirt Dude then proceeded to ignore these electronically selected ‘friend suggestions,’ until, one fateful day The Girl in the Sandbox posted as her profile photo–an old snapshot of the herself and a playmate in a sandbox.

And no, contrary to what you think, you are not a genius for putting two and two together.

‘Fine, I have not known her since. I knew her once, we were three and it has been suggested that the average age of the first memories is three years, six months, but that’s just an average and we might have been the exception to the rule. There. Happy?’

‘Your conclusions are accurate, my lovestruck roomie,’ said the Boy With Ears Sticking Out of His Head, and before he could develop his gloating into a magnificent filligree, a voice came from behind:

‘Hey nerds.’