Today, it’s St. Vitus’ Day and I, too, want to please my beloved with a little dance. Thinking me into a hearty rage on the way, I arrive at her door with a stately apron of foam, dripping from my lip and chin.

My adored one opens the door and my heart runs over: “Grrrarrchz!” I blare into her face and, rolling my eyes, I start tossing my pate to and fro. Big spumous flakes dart from my flews, splashing against the doorposts and into my sweetheart’s face. She shakes herself bashfully but at the same time a telltale red shoots up her cheeks – the most beauteous red in the world! For affection it signals, knowing which I cannot but neigh at the top of my voice and violently fling my arms. My hands crash against the doorframe but, happily, only two fingers and one nail snap.

I am picking up steam!

I step into the room, let out a deafening cock crow, and then bash my left knee into my right eye, once, twice, and once again. I jump up into the air, land on my back, toss up my legs and arms, bounce towards the kitchen like a ball, and in a frenzy throw myself into the neatly sorted waste glass. Instantly I regain my footing and whirl across the tile floor in a murderous step dance, my head rolling furiously.
After this, there is no holding my beloved. She pounces on me with a shrill yell and bared teeth. Clinching, punching, kicking, rolling, and flinging our limbs we rush back into the hall. When we arrive in the parlour we are barely aware of our surroundings any more. Finally, with no end of clanking and cracking and clattering, we come to a rest in the cabinet with the dowry.

Panting heavily, I look into her beautiful eyes: bright white with rosy capillaries.
“Oh, you!” she whispers and I thrill with delight.

Afterwards, there is coffee and pie.