Okay, I have reconsidered.
You probably don’t remember me, but if you do, the last you would have seen of me was my ass in the air as I tumbled head-over-heels down that embankment. I should look into purchasing sturdier shoes, or maybe sturdier ankles. (I hear cyborg ankles are all the rage. I could get a pair that shoots lasers!)
In my defense, you were chasing me, and I wasn’t strictly prepared to be chased across a parking lot by a guy in an octopus costume. (Contrary to popular belief, I do not stand in front of my closet every morning and ponder, “Hmm, are you really going to wear that while being pursued by a marauding mollusk?”) You were shouting something about wanting to take up residence in my personal space. (Damn clingy cephalopods.)
At the time, as I scraped my face along the dry grass, I was pretty sure I didn’t want you anywhere near my personal space, regardless of how many arms you had to hold me.
Now that I’ve gotten the grass stains and bruises off my clothes (and my pride), I have reconsidered. Maybe we could go get sushi or something? I could even put it inside a jar for you to open; I hear octopuses like that.