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As a boy of 9 there was a young classmate who I held great infatuation for, Miss Charlotte, her hair was of spun gold and her cheeks of the ripest pink cherrys. I was not alone in this desire, I had a rival for her, a friend, Richard. I was invited to attend her birthday party on behest of her parents. I had bought her a pink Furby to which I had heard was her most greatest want but much to my dismay her parents had already bought her the pink Furby and presented it to her in the morning. It was then I saw how my rival wooed my dear beloved, buying her two Backstreet boys tickets for him and her to attend. Being her favorite group she was smitten with his gift and agreed to take him with her. I had been bested. In my boyish jelousy and rage I did spot the young Charlottes pink Furby resting atop the kitchen table after the cake cut. Her dog a large brute, of staffordshire bull terrier breeding, was known to take a liking to ripping and chewing through the young misses toys as we were warned before the event, as to make sure to keep all toys out of reach, especially the fluffy ones. As eyes were blinded to me I passed down the toy to the awaiting hound who readily took to the fluffy toy, breaking and ripping it apart in great chunks. As i made my way back into the sitting room biding my time before at last asking dear friend Richard if he left his gameboy upon the kitchen table. Unsure he went back to check, I then apporached the young misses mother, a delightful if trusting woman, easily swayed by words of others, whispering slightly in her ear: "Why is Richard giving the pink Furby to the dog?", In alert she turned and shouted at him, "What are you doing!?". Oh the look upon my rivals face as he stared in horror, The table was too high for the dog to reach alone, there was no excuse he could give to justify how in the short time before the cake cut and the entrance to the sitting room it ended up within the beasts maw without the assistance of another and he standing there in the midst of the act. How he wailed he didnt do it. How he shouted it wasnt him. How the young Miss cried with loss of her beloved Furby and distrust of the dear friend Richard. It was then the final act came about, approaching her as she wept I proudly presented her with the yet uponed gift of mine. The pink Furby. How her eyes lit up and her smile radiated the room once more. She wrapped me in a deep hug and oh dear reader how I smiled, how I smiled. To end this dear tale it was I who ended up attended the Backsteet Boys concert with the young Miss Charlotte. Dear friend Richard never again attempted to woo her.

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