When I wrote my entry for the April Challenge, I sat there thinking of all the rules of good writing and broke as many of them as I could squeeze into a short space. Here's the quiz - identify all the rules I broke when writing this little slice of torture. In case you've managed to block the story out of your memories, here it is again. (I'm not responsible for any therapy bills arising from this exercise!) ***************** I caught just a glimpse of him as he wandered up. At 6 feet tall, with non-descript, dark brown hair, blue eyes, a medium build and lightly tanned skin, he looked like the accountant he was. The maroon polo shirt emblazoned with the Chitum and Hau logo and the dull, beige slacks did nothing for his underexercised figure that had started to go to pot. I sighed and looked at my own reflection in the window as he approached. Barely over 5 feet, with short, unstylish, mousey brown hair, myopic brown eyes, and pale, uneven skin, I was no catch, either. I looked down to my fingernails which desperately needed a new manicure and something other than baby-pink fingernail polish, and despaired. "Brenda, what's wrong?" he asked softly with a worried look. "Brian, I'm afraid that it's just not going to work out," I replied forlornly. "But, Brenda, we make sense as a couple," he argued quietly. "Everyone says we make sense as a couple, Brian, but I need my space," I replied resolutely. He tapped his foot impatiently like a little kid who wanted something. "Brenda, you've been talking with Bobbie, your best friend since 3rd grade again haven't you? You know she hates me after I accidentally spilled punch down her shirt so everyone saw her bra was stuffed with Kleenex!" he exclaimed. "Bobbie never did forgive you, Brian, but she is my best friend and she looks out for me, but that's not what brought this on," I argued resolutely. "Then what brought this on?" he queried confusedly. "What brought this on is the present that you gave me last December as an anniversary present that I hated so much that I cried for days," I replied angrily. "But you remember how I helped you return the present to the store, and I even got you that expensive ring as an apology," he countered desperately. I smoothed my ankle-length green silk skirt with deep yellow and azure trim that I'd gotten as an Easter present two years ago as I contemplated an answer. "I know you got me that 2 carat diamondelle ring with the 12 carat gold filigree, and I do love it, but I don't love you!" I jumped up and ran out the door, unable to give voice to my overwhelming despair. Brian stood there and stared at the door long after I'd fled the scene.