It would be a bit too cliche to say it was a beautiful day at The North American Presidential Memorial School of Clownery Circusing and General Tom-Foolery, or: TNAMSOCCAGTF, as it’s often shortened to. The truth is: the days were always beautiful there. Nelson Bladdernut walked the usual route to his classroom. When he had attended this school his major had been in ‘Slow-Witted Arts’. This was in the technical field of clowning. Upon his hiring, however, the board had decided he should teach ‘Breaking Dimension Physics’. Sure it sounded impressive but in the end it was a fluff class about getting in and out of a clown car. Needless to say this was a relegation he was not at all pleased with.

He was nearly at his classroom. Now walking through the front door and down the main hallway his heart fluttered as he noticed the person walking in front of him. Straight golden hair fell down to the small of her back. He watched as her hips swayed back and forth bellow a tiny waist, causing the pleated skirt that rested on them to ripple and roll like the waves of the ocean. Gruntilde Primrose. The two names echoed in his thoughts like a symphony beyond simple hearing, and yet she was far more beautiful than her namesake. He often pictured her face in the lonesome longing of the night. She had a single dark eyebrow that sharpened the protrusion of her heavy, knobby brow exquisitely. Her gaze had a way of stirring a tremor in his confidence. Perhaps it was that big blue lazy eye, always looking left. Indeed he could never be sure just where her gaze fell, and that only made him want her more. He loved the concave form of her teeth, as if she had taken a club square to the kisser at an early age; and in fact, her nose had been broken twice to match. The way it skewed off to one side stole his very breath.

Above all he loved the meaningless details of her personality. He often watched silently when he could, as she obsessively scratched the paint off the walls around the school. He loved the way she plucked loose strands of hair from her sweater only to tie them around chair legs at random. He loved the aroma of her mouth-breathing as she stared dull and thoughtlessly at nothing in front of her; her breath carried the blissful memory of salami and cheese that drove him mad.

“Gruntilde!” Finally he could no long restrain himself. The woman turned around to reveal her familiar mouth-breathing and the same glaze of stupidity over her face. “Gruntilde, I need to tell you something!” She stared blankly in response. “Gruntilde, I love you and I always have!”

“My shweet Nelshon,” she lisped as her crooked gaze welled with tears, “I know that. But it would never work out.” She added solemnly. “I teach lunchtime, and you teach clown carsh… I’m shorry” She turned around and walked off silently sobbing toward her lunchroom.

He knew she was right. It was a fools hope to begin with. The truth was: that magnificent creature was so far out of his league that they weren’t even playing the same game. He took a deep breath and continued down the hall of The North American Presidential Memorial School of Clownery Circusing and General Tom-Foolery, toward his classroom full of waiting students, yet still lonely as ever.