And the results are just too hilarious not to share: Sister Bernadette was thinking about Patrick Turner again. Patrick was a remarkable doctor with fragile hands and tall eyes. Sister walked over to the window and reflected on her poverty-stricken surroundings. She had always loved busy Poplar with its scary, spotless street. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel lonely. Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a remarkable figure of Patrick Turner. Sister gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a virtuous, courageous, horlicks drinker with petite hands and unkempt eyes. Her friends saw her as a moaning, melted midwife. Once, she had even rescued a fried baby from a burning building. But not even a virtuous person who had once rescued a fried baby from a burning building, was prepared for what Patrick had in store today. The drizzle rained like singing cats, making Sister happy. Sister grabbed a tiny teapot that had been strewn nearby; she massaged it with her fingers. As Sister stepped outside and Patrick came closer, she could see the depressed smile on his face. Patrick gazed with the affection of 38 caring boiled butterflies. He said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want love." Sister looked back, even more happy and still fingering the tiny teapot. "Patrick, I love you," she replied. They looked at each other with concerned feelings, like two greasy, glorious goldfish working at a very thoughtful clinic, which had plainsong music playing in the background and two understanding uncles smiling to the beat. Sister regarded Patrick's fragile hands and tall eyes. "I feel the same way!" revealed Sister with a delighted grin. Patrick looked afraid, his emotions blushing like a brainy, breakable bible. Then Patrick came inside for a nice drink of horlicks. THE END The more I read it, the funnier it gets!
