Dear Eileen,

I'm writing this letter to accompany the delivery of the hair clip you misplaced at the park. Heheh, did I sound smart? I better have, I thought that sentence up for a good five minutes. Appreciate that I'm spending so much effort writing this letter. Um... I don't know why I am, really. But, why waste good paper, right? Ha. You'll have something to keep, from me. A full page of writing. Now, what to write to fill up the rest of the page... well, before Morde-dork comes in and realizes I'm writing a letter to you, and then he'll start freaking out thinking I'm writing some sort of love letter. Anyway, um... don't think this makes us penpals or anything, Eileen, because this is a one-time thing. Benson told me to do something productive, since I was bored out of my mind, and I thought writing a letter would take more time than going to your house or the coffee shop (and no walking, which is good). Just saying, it's taking me a while to spell everything corretcly correctly. Wow, that's ironcic ironic. Damn. Okay, anyway. I've never seen you wear that hair clip before, Mordecai told me it was yours. I wonder how he knew that? Maybe it's Margeret's, but he didn't want to say, and I'm making a dumbsack out of myself by mailing you something that isn't even yours. But... uh... how should I say this... you should... wear it. I mean, it's nice. It's pretty, and it... the colour, it's pink, if you didn't already know. I think it would suit you. It would look good on you. If it is yours, then you should wear it more often... and your hair down... and... you already know about the glasses thing, aha...

Okay, I need to shut up. I shouldn't be one to tell you what to wear, or look like. The hair clip is pretty, but it doesn't matter. I'm shallow. I'm a shallow man. I only care about the hotness of chicks, and completely look past what they are on the inside. Oh god, I'm rambling. Damn it, I would score all of that out, but... should I just wrinkle up this page? No, I spent too long writing on it... and now I'm on the other side already. God. I talk way too much. Eileen, since I'm here, I'll tell you the truth. Yeah, I think you look hot without your glasses on. But you're still pretty. You care. You care about me. You work, you're determined, you put your mind to things. You're intelligent and down to earth, and I'm an ignorant, selfish... raccoon. So, I just want to know... why me? I know we're friends now... but I hated you to begin with, just because you were clingy. I used to walk away if you ran for me, and I hate myself for that. You're too good for me. Always a tadpole in my pond... then a frog... then... a bigger... frog? Being poetic isn't really my thing. I'm bad at metaphors, heheh... but I guess the point I'm trying to make in this... really long letter is that... well, we've gotten closer... and I guess I... I've... started to... I'VE STARTED TO STOP TALKING I... STOP TALKING Uh... STOP TALKINNGGGG

Well... let's just say this actually is a love letter. Do you get it? Of course, you're smart. Wow... this was only meant to be a short side-letter, not a spillage of my... 'feelings'. It's already went on for a few pages. I guess I should shut up now. Sorry if I freaked you out or... something... I'll just stop talking.

See ya, Eileen.

Oh, and, you're not working at the coffee shop tomorrow, are you? I don't think you are, but I'm not sure. If you're not, uh... meet me there at noon. Consider it a... a date. Now I'll stop talking. Sorry. Sorry. Ugh.

~Rigby