I really feel our business transaction can be easily and quickly finalized with a simple, covert visit to your office. I will not make a scene like last time. I will bring with me a picnic basket filled with the finest breads and cheeses known to man. I will feed you grapes from the vine as I divulge my social security number, which I have tattooed across my inguinal ligaments, the developed lower abdominal tendon featured prominently on attractive male models who have lowered their Calvin Klein underwear beyond a certain point. I do not own any pubic hair. I will leave the Quaker Oatmeal at home. We will listen to Peabo Bryson. I will smell of musky flowers. I will lightly tickle my bank routing information onto your goose-bumping back, forcing you to decipher the numbers using nothing but the erotic sensations and your mind. We will make a game of it.
Does this sound enticing to you?