Dear Diary,
I need to rant about men, cads all, except for me, of course. I find them manner less and course, vain and ignorant, self centred and fickle liars.
Where is Mr Ashforth who waxed lyrical about my delicate lips? I can only hope he is in a large pot in some unfriendly jungle, surrounded by painted natives waggling their 'doodah's' at him as they contemplate which spices to add to their Fickle Man Stew!
What of Mr Fairweather who... cherished... my friendship? "Hello? Mr Fairweather? Remember me?" I sadly doubt it.
What of this 'Thespian' to whom I have written who has not had the decency to reply to my epistle? I would and could not be so ignorant to another. As I now recall his ears were rather prominent and he did appear to sweat rather too readily and had the beginnings of a magnificent hump!
What of Donald Oswald Tobias-Scott who abandoned me for France, and fortune, and fame and other things beginning with 'F'? "I will contact you.".....his parting words. Have I so much as sniffed a French letter? Have I Huffenpuff! I should no doubt be thankful as it would probably reek of garlic and urine. I hear tell those Frenchmen know nought of soap!
There! I feel better for it. I know not what has come over me....but maybe that is it.........Nothing!
Kristin Chenowith - Home
14 years ago
2 comments:
My dear Mr. Austen,
I would urge you most advisedly to avoid sniffing French letters. You are likely to catch the pox or the plague or both!!
On those rare occasions when I have opened a French letter, I have been disturbed to find evidence of cheese - you know what the French are like!!
I know how disturbing cheese is to your delicate sensibilities.
Yours etc, Sir Studly Buckwell
My dear Mr Buckwell,
Your comment made me retch.
Yours queasily,
Wayne Austen.
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