It wasn't so long ago that I was in love with a beautiful girl. I went on lavish vacations and had friends in every corner in every town. I was a laughing, smiling life champion humanoid. Now, though. Now I was watching an itchy midget ask for bacon. I knew the midget was itchy because she kept scratching her stomach. She was on her tippy toes, peering at the breakfast meats. "Bacon!," she decided.
I frowned, a little. The itchy midget was a bit overweight. She weighed at least 55. I wanted to yell "Oatmeal! Oranges!" to her, but I was bashful. Her ears were much lower than my mouth. I would have been too late anyway. Plus she was just so itchy. She was, by far, the most itchy midget I had every encountered. Perhaps a sneakster dwarf put some peppers and powders in her sweater.
I couldn't help to think about my life as the midget happily and itchily trotted off. My life was like the midget. Right now I am very itchy. Now where is my bacon?