When The Moon Hits Your Eye

I don't get it. It's just a wedge of cheese. Why do I have the sudden urge to preserve it in a transparent airtight container? I've even starting wondering which of my twenty fireplace mantlepieces it should be placed on. That's not all, though. The other day I was looking at a jewelry store, and something pulled me in. I looked around, and I spotted this chain necklace. For some reason, Fredrica's face flashed through my mind, and I thought "That would look great on her." So I bought it. Now I'm staring at it wondering what I was thinking. How would I even give it to her?

"Excuse me, Fredrica? I was thinking of your face when I saw these chains..."

"Hi Fredrica. I just found these lying around, and they're useless to me, so..."

"Hey, Fredrica, you look great in chains!"

That doesn't sound right. Why can't I stop thinking about her anyway? I need to put this cheese away. It's probably the fumes. Yes, the fumes of the parking-garage-cake-slice wedge of cheese. Maybe I should throw it to the zebras, get them to shut up. No, not that, it was a present. Oooooh, what is wrong with me? Maybe I need to see my personal physician. Yes, he'll know what to do.

Peacocks. I think I'll import some peacocks for the island. Maybe the bright colors will calm the zebras down.