Esmeralda “Esme” Featherbottom, a woman whose online dating profile specified “Virgin-Only Bride Seeks Unicorn,” was, to put it mildly, particular. She believed in true love, purity, and sparkly horned equines. So, when Barnaby Butterfield, a mild-mannered accountant, stumbled upon her profile while battling insomnia, he knew he had a challenge.
Barnaby wasn’t a unicorn, obviously. And “virgin,” well, let’s just say his extensive stamp collection wasn’t the only thing he’d thoroughly enjoyed. But, he was desperately lonely, and Esme’s profile, for all its eccentricity, hinted at a kind heart buried beneath layers of glitter glue and delusion.
He decided to message her. “Greetings, Esme,” he typed, fingers trembling. “While I may not possess a horn, I do have a keen eye for detail and an encyclopedic knowledge of tax regulations. Would you consider a non-unicorn offering a sincere cup of tea?”
Esme, surprisingly, responded. “Tea is acceptable. But be warned, Barnaby Butterfield, I will be performing a purity test. Prepare to answer probing questions about your moral fiber and your stance on glitter.”
Their first date was…an experience. Esme grilled him on everything from his favorite shade of white (he panicked and said “eggshell”) to whether he believed in fairies (he cautiously answered, “only when heavily medicated”). He almost choked on his Earl Grey when she pulled out a “Virginity Verification Kit” she’d purchased online.
“It’s just a litmus test,” she assured him, holding up a test strip and a small vial. “Don’t worry, it’s not invasive.”
Barnaby paled. “I think…I think I need to go to the bathroom.” He fled to the restroom, heart hammering. He splashed water on his face, contemplating his life choices. He couldn’t lie. But he also couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing Esme.
Then, inspiration struck. He remembered the strawberry jam he’d spilled on his tie earlier that day. Quick as a flash, he dabbed a bit of jam on the test strip. He returned to the table, trembling, and presented the strip to Esme.
Esme gasped. The strip was a vibrant, screaming pink. “Oh, Barnaby,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. “You’re… you’re so pure! You’re practically radioactive with virginity!”
Barnaby beamed, relieved. “Yes, well, I’m quite dedicated to my stamp collection.”
Esme leaned across the table, her eyes sparkling. “You know, Barnaby,” she said, her voice suddenly low and suggestive, “I’ve always wanted to try strawberry jam.”
