Creative Writing: A Humorous Wedding

He whispered to himself, “Come on Burt you can do this! Just be like all the other men and you will do just fine.” However, Burt was wrong, he was not like the other gentlemen. He had not talked to a person of the opposite gender in what seemed like years. Yet he still put on all of his best attire to attend the London City Ball of 1917. When he looked in the mirror, his face turned a pale white shade, as if all of the sudden he had remembered. For he was definitely not like the other gentlemen.
He arrived at the ball and trudged his way up the marble stairs, moving in a way that seemed unnatural, even inhuman. It could have been from the tight tuxedo, but that was likely not the cause. He peered into the ballroom and his eyes met a mysterious

He entered the ballroom walking like it was his first time. Blushing, Burt tried to get a few words out as she passed by him, however, all that left his mouth was a faint whisper. He looked like he would start drooling at any minute. His eyes carefully shifted up and down her body as if he was studying her. The mysterious woman wore a form-fitting, light pink ball gown with gold embroidery. She walked past Burt smiling at what Burt believed was him, however Burt was wrong again. He shuffled behind her. This time, he managed to get the word, “Hello” out. She turned around to face him but suddenly it was as if he had disappeared. She looked left, then right and saw nothing. Then she heard a trembling voice from beneath her say “Hello.” She followed the sound and her hazel eyes looked down and noticed poor Burt Whitman puffing out his chest in hopes to cover up his small, boyish stature. She couldn't help but let out a tiny giggle. This was exactly why Burt didn’t attend many balls. God had graced Burt with a kind nature, however, had also gifted him with an incredibly, petite frame. He stood at five foot two and his arms were no thicker than two twigs stacked on top of each other. His torso was around the same as most teenage girls and