I'm pulling the chocolate chip cookies out of the oven and mulling over our plans for world domination. They're good; precise. The bank heist was pulled off without a hitch (they haven't even realised it's happened yet). The nukes are in the back room. The laser guided missile system is in the process of being set up. Everything's going swimmingly.
But I'm going to have to leave. I'm going to have to depart before we can pull off our grand scheme together. I can't be your sidekick, your compadre, any more.
Because that time you patted me on the head, when I baked the celebratory Victoria sponge after we stole the piranhas from the aquarium and said, "You'll make someone a good wife some day."
I can't forget that.
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