Tattie Murder

Dear Mrs Tattie Assassin,

I can't tell you how relieved I am that you spelled potato correctly. Even though you may treat them badly in the kitchen, at least you don't insult them with ignominious spelling (like the incumbent Merkin president).

But poor, poor Mr. Mac, and poor, poor Little Ewan! I sometimes wonder how you can bear to confess such inquities on this public forum. I cringe for your tatties, I really do. Alas, I have no clever-clogsy scientific explanation as to the concrete texture. My esoteric explanation would be thus:

You must have been a Very Naughty Girl in a previous life, and the Evil Kitchen Fairy has obviously been hovering over your shoulder for many years, just waiting to punish you by gleefully putting a spell on your poor, innocent taters. Yes my Dear, your potatoes are enchanted. And not in a good way. Maybe I mean cursed.

And while I'm in a Premium Acerbic Harpie mood: was that really necessary to gloat about your lovely Sylv and the exquisitely wrapped spoils with which she ... spoiled you? I don't suppose you considered the dampening effect it might have on your Poor Little Matchgirl Antipo, starving in her cold garret, with nowt but a lump of coal to suck for nourishment. So you know what you can do with your sunny love and chocolatey kisses, don't you?

Why yes, I have had too much cawfee today, why do you ask? And the only reason I needed the cawfee is because of my NOISE-MAKING AT 4 AM, EVIL AND INCONSIDERATE SPOUSE.

You know I'll be all luvley and nicey-nice tomorrow, don't you? If I'm still on your Friend List, that is!

Crotchety love and Hagbag kisses,
Antipo

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