When the unicorn found a romance novel, open to page 243 already, on the sofa of one of its favorite women, it felt tenderness toward the woman, but also a little sorry that the woman had to stoop so low. And it wasn’t even a lesbian romance!
Until one rainy day the unicorn read a romance itself and ate the requisite chocolate bonbons while the flames of the fireplace cast their seductive shadows. The unicorn cried passionately throughout the last two pages, though it had a sneaking suspicion that the romance it was reading wasn’t even particularly good.
Next day the unicorn confided in its English professor, an open-minded sporty young man who, the unicorn believed, would be inspired by its insights.
“I felt so much I never get to feel in my comparatively seedy and grainy life,” said the unicorn. “And it wasn’t even a unicorn romance!”
“The only problem with romance novels is that they are all the same,” said the professor.
“Which makes them sort of like football games, doesn’t it?” mused the inspired unicorn. “The only difference is in the detail.”
The unicorn was astonished when it flunked the course.
(from The Unicorn And . . ., Lulu 2008)