Dear You, So, I told you how Farrier and Wattleman acquired me from my parents. They had just ushered a very shaken Mr. Thomas out of the building and were now faced with the prospect of a little girl who was smeared liberally with both tears and chocolate.
How many of these letters are there? It’s not even end of Monday and she’s not even a little nervous or perturbed by any of it? How is this a realistic way of existing when so much random shit is being thrown at you?
