Dr. Ratio: I've read 20 textbooks on romance and human relationships. I followed all the instructions. Why does he still think I hate him?
Dr. Ratio: I likened him to a beautiful bird ("The Attini Peacock boasts one of the universe's more jarring songs, and your choice of attire is somewhat peacock-esque").
Dr. Ratio: I complimented his abilities ("He's not awful to work with").
Dr. Ratio: I playfully implied that he'd look better without his clothes ("I keep telling him the flashy outfits are just making his job harder").
Dr. Ratio: I indulge in his whims ("You could easily squash me with just a pinch"—"If that is your wish, I will do so without a moment's hesitation").
His rubber ducky he was talking to all this time: … (can you please be normal for like 5 minutes and just go and talk to him?)