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For three and a half years, Jenna has been trying to get a man to fall in love with her. Well, not just any ordinary man, but specifically, Leonard Hartnett, her sometime boss in the mail room where she works. She’s tried everything from the obvious to the ridiculous, and a little beyond, if that were possible, but then sleeping for three months with a shoe she had stolen from his apartment, or lying within a triangular configuration of burning incense and tree bark at four in the morning with the hope of astroprojecting herself into his heart, might just qualify.
But such misguided attempts were months ago, having been driven, she would now say, by erratic hormonal levels that have since quieted from jagged peaks and valleys to smoothed rolling hills, copasetically green. Thanks to a psychic named Verishna, Jenna now has proper counsel as well as a money-back-guarantee to finally, and categorically, make her wish come true.

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