Interlibrary Loan, Will You Marry Me?

We can do it all progressive-style. None of that white dress rehearsal dinner rubbish. You can still date others, sleep with them, have their babies for all I care. My love for you is so pure, it is unhampered by pedestrian toils of jealousy and those overrated longings for commitment and ownership.

If you want, we can even have a prolonged engagement. I’ll buy you a diamond ring. Or two. Or a thousand. But since you are a national computer network, I’ll have to wear them on your behalf.

Interlibrary Loan, let’s get married. If for no other reason than for the supremacy of your acronym. ILL. You make me ill with your power to connect me to musty shelves the world over. You make me ill each time I get that phone call telling me my requests have arrived and that the library closes at five. Baby, my love for you knows no regular business hours. And that, too, makes me ill.