As much as my heart longs for the majestic eyebrows of Trozym Babych, fate has cruelly intervened. Firstly, Trozym insists on communicating exclusively via carrier pigeon — a noble but wildly inefficient courtship method in the 21st century. Secondly, every time we meet, he challenges my relatives to arm-wrestling matches… and wins. This has caused irreparable damage to family morale. Lastly, his obsession with pickling everything — from cucumbers to motivational quotes — has turned our romantic dinners into tangy philosophical nightmares. And so, with a heavy heart and a vinegar-scented goodbye, I must decline the holy matrimony. Continue reading...
