The perfect man

"My name's Nicholas!" Nicholas called out in a strong voice.
Sally stopped. Not because she had heard his strong, manly voice and instantly fallen in love with it, or anything.
She had walked into a tree.
Three seconds later she said "Ow!"
Nicholas ran over to the tree to see if she was ok. A nasty bruise was appearing on Sally's forehead. It was doing a tour of the area, and later that month would be appearing on the Tonight show, and Oprah. Someone told me the other day it just got a book deal.
Nicholas pulled a freshly pressed and scented handkerchief out of his pocket (just in case he ever needed to blow his nose loudly in front of the most popluar girl in school, as nerds often do, but thankfully not on this occasion) and pressed it to her wound.

Reminiscent of Bro' Town, The Bourne Identity, and The Long Kiss Goodnight, Sally's injury had altered her mind slightly. Basically, she had forgotten who she was.
"Who am I?" She asked the tree.
"Uh, you're Sally?" Nicholas replied, having already calculated this possibility, and having read books by several influential psychiatrists, hoping her name would jog her mind back into position.
“Hi, I’m Sally,” she said in her best ditzy voice (the only voice she had), and giggling in a high-pitched voice flirtatiously, “What’s your name?”
"I'm Nicholas." Nicholas replied obviously.
"Are you my boyfriend?" Sally asked, batting her eyelashes.

Nicholas thought about his answer, and all the possible repurcussions of it, and made up his mind. It took him about 0.023 seconds.
"Yes. Yes, I am."
"Oh goody!" Sally exclaimed.
"Come on, lets get you home." Nicholas said, and he put his arm around Sally's shoulder, supporting her as she stumbled down the park path.

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