Dear Colombian Flea,
I have a few questions/concerns to voice for your puny ears.
Firstly, why must you continually feed from my big toes whilst I slumber? I already have moderately enlarged big toes (or los grandes as I like to refer to them as) from my many years of toe-spinning. Please leave them alone for a while and I shall reward you by creating a make-shift home for you out of these three ingredients: used tin foil, excess clumps of hair from my brush, and uncooked macaroni (because what can’t you make with uncooked macaroni?) I will fashion a flea tank for you and any of your remaining family members and/or archenemies and enjoy your crazy flea-antics while I fancy myself as being a prettier—and slighty less hair—P.T.Barnum. I think it’s a good deal.
Secondly, I hate you.
Thirdly, when I go out for social functions, I expect you to behave with respect and courtesy toward other people. This means that you should show them as much fun as you’ve shown me by performing tiny tricks on my shoulder while we laugh and point at your crazy ways. Once the laughter has died, however, this should be your cue to make that dangerous leap onto another host’s clothes and/or eyelids. From there, I will bid you farewell, and remember all the wacky times we shared.