Fine. Perhaps my outburst about older men (see QS's post, immediately below) has deep psychological meaning. Perhaps it's because in recent years, though I have received three proposals, they were all from four year old boys.
And it strikes me that by the ripe age of four, each of these fellows had already developed his own romantic style... and, though I say so myself, really good taste.
Dalton did it up right. He dropped to one knee on the porch. He had everything... good looks, a good education, good breeding, and he even offered me flowers... ah yes, the perfect man. The only problem was that he hadn't graduated from kindergarten, and he happened to be shoving his flowers up my nose.
Elliott was more direct. "Hey, Claire, I'm gonna marry you." Aha.
Oh, but Davis...
With Davis, it was all implied, all blushy and conspiratorial. Be still, my heart! He had just set off a massive explosion with his army men (ahhh, the rugged type!). I bent down to remove the soldier that had alighted on my foot, and he looked up at me, all starry-eyed and swoony, and whispered, "Claire... Clairrrre, I really, reallllllly like you." Big grin, even bigger blush. Then he proceeded to whisper to me his deepest, darkest secrets. "So now, I'm gonna tell you how to blow up a good guy, and how to blow up a bad guy. You don't want to hurt the good guy, so you just blast 'em to outer space to defend the moon. But the BAD guy, well, with him, you have to get the bomb inside him, so he'll blow up into a million pieces all over the room."
"Aha, I see. How do you know this, Davis?" I sighed, my cheeks feeling all flushed and tingly.
"Oh, I have my big brothers."
Yes... he has big brothers. But...
Spuddy Buddy, left, with Davis, my dream man.