I have to admit it sooner or later
Does anyone know the name of the guy from the chemistry videos Minot shows in class? Because here is a poem I wrote in his honor. In the poem, I called him Milton, even though I'm pretty sure he's Indian and not at all named Milton.
Milt-
You have really bad face muscles. They never move.
But Milty Milt Milterton, you know how to groove.
Your science skills defy
All that I know and love inside.
And now a letter.
Dearest Milton,
Almost every week in Honors Chemistry my class gets to watch one of your videos. By now I feel like you are a part of the class. You were there when we learned about hudrocarbons, and when ions started making sense, and again when Minot attempted to teach us and ions stopped making any sense. You were present once again the day before Jack and Stephen had their tiff, and the day Moooly and I decided we needed to break up with Jessye, even though we never did.
Milton, after all this time and sentimental experience, I have something to tell you, a secret I must now shamefully admit. Every time we watch your videos, after I'm through laughing at your absurd 80s clothes and they way you try to make jokes about covalent bonds, after all of that, I think to myself, "Wow. Underneath it all, Milton is such a stud." And then I start imagining us, together.
I imagine you and I frolicking through fields together, holding hands as your face refuses to move and you chuckle in that endearing way you have. I imagine me spoon-feeding you jello, or grapes, or even strawberries covered in whipped cream. And you say to me, "Lauren, I think you're really great." And I know you mean it because you raise your glass to mine and we toast to our good health. Then we ride away from our lovely picnic on a white stallion, with me holding the reigns.
Sigh. Milton. I just wanted to let you know this because, well because... because I love you! I have always loved you!
That's it, my confession. It's all you, now.
Love FOREVER,
Lauren
Milt-
You have really bad face muscles. They never move.
But Milty Milt Milterton, you know how to groove.
Your science skills defy
All that I know and love inside.
And now a letter.
Dearest Milton,
Almost every week in Honors Chemistry my class gets to watch one of your videos. By now I feel like you are a part of the class. You were there when we learned about hudrocarbons, and when ions started making sense, and again when Minot attempted to teach us and ions stopped making any sense. You were present once again the day before Jack and Stephen had their tiff, and the day Moooly and I decided we needed to break up with Jessye, even though we never did.
Milton, after all this time and sentimental experience, I have something to tell you, a secret I must now shamefully admit. Every time we watch your videos, after I'm through laughing at your absurd 80s clothes and they way you try to make jokes about covalent bonds, after all of that, I think to myself, "Wow. Underneath it all, Milton is such a stud." And then I start imagining us, together.
I imagine you and I frolicking through fields together, holding hands as your face refuses to move and you chuckle in that endearing way you have. I imagine me spoon-feeding you jello, or grapes, or even strawberries covered in whipped cream. And you say to me, "Lauren, I think you're really great." And I know you mean it because you raise your glass to mine and we toast to our good health. Then we ride away from our lovely picnic on a white stallion, with me holding the reigns.
Sigh. Milton. I just wanted to let you know this because, well because... because I love you! I have always loved you!
That's it, my confession. It's all you, now.
Love FOREVER,
Lauren