Johnny had noticed your recent decline in your mood, and knew what was coming. Shark week.

You had been in your room all day, curled up in a ball, feeling like you were being stabbed in the stomach several times.

Suddenly, you hear a gentle knock on your door, and Johnny’s soft, Scottish voice.

“Mo ghràdh? May I come in? I bought you some snacks, I got your favourites?”

He chirps in a concerned, yet kind of enthusiastic way.