The story so far:
"Sleep with a hair net," she said. "It'll fix all your problems."
I was a little uncomfortable, so I went with the time-tested classics: flowers and a bottle of wine. The rose stems weaved nicely between the webbing, but to be honest, the alcohol filtered right through her and left a puddle on the floor. Undeterred, I made small talk for what must've seemed like hours before the moment of truth arrived. Boldness surged within me, and I actually uttered the words, "Let's do this." She didn't respond, but then she didn't have to. We both knew what I meant, and we both wanted it.
This morning, I woke up with mini-rope burns across my nether regions, my junk tangled in netting, and my coiffure still a fromop. Damn you, Honeygloom. I'm never taking your advice again.