Naughty Letters to Ms. Mac

Countless noble souls (and many fluffy kittens) sacrificed their lives during the making of this blog. We think you will agree they were worth it.

Friday, January 18, 2008

Prince/ess of Pyjama Friday

Dear Prince/ess of Pyjama Friday,

Are you sure you're turning into a man? I don't want to be disappointed to find out on our wedding night that your winkie never made an appearance. Although the hairy top lip does stir me in places it shouldn't.

How did poor Popo sleep last night? Did you crawl back into bed this morning to steal some forbidden hours of night-night? Just the thought of your lack of sleep makes me yawn uncontrollably. If it makes you feel any better, I have probably slept enough for both of us in my lifetime thus far.

What kind of weekend do you have planned? Mine is incredibly exciting- tonight I have an appointment with Coronation St where I will witness poor old Vera Duckworth meet her maker. It'll take me all weekend to recover from the trauma, I am sure which is why it's a good thing that Mr Mac and I have absolutely zilch planned between 10pm tonight and Monday morning.

I went to a parent-teacher meeting for James last night. The (two very young) teachers both told me the same thing; James is a very intelligent young man and is particularly gifted in the area of language. However, he's so scatter-brained that he couldn't organise a piss-up in a Brauerei and spends most of his days languishing in his favourite position as centre of attention and class clown. If only he could harness all of his class clown energy and concentrate on his studies. He could be an evil genius and take over the world for me while I nurse my sore back. Bloody kids, you can't count on them for anything.

In the meantime I may just let myself be sucked into a YouTube Vortex. There appears to be a whole new swathe of Russell Brand clips uploaded for my amusement. The housework can wait, I need me a tall man in skinny jeans and a ridiculous hair do to talk all mockney and and use random long words at me.

Pyjama quisses this fine Friday morn,



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