I met Alice right after I split up with a girl who I still care too much about to mention without crying. And I don't cry, damn it. Alice saw me at my worst; pre-me...I was a premie, get it? Why aren't you laughing. Not funny. But I was like a neo-nate (not nanite); born a bit too soon as Belle before I had gotten Bruce sufficiently stuffed in a trunk to dump off of the Bay-Tunnel. (Shhh...that's a metaphor)

Alice loves me. Nothing I've ever done has ever pushed her away. She knows where the 'nads are buried and still she said yes. She says I'm pretty when I know I'm not. Even now I hate the way I look. She cuddles and tells me I'm wrong about me. It's the only debate I've ever lost where I felt good afterward. She cares about everyone more than herself, which is what makes me want to be better. I'll never be pretty and I'll never be sexy, but she has made me kinder and nicer to be around. She loves me and I love her. Not a terrific telling of a story, I'll wager, but a damn fine story to tell!