*Yawnzzz* Sorry, what was that?

Dearest Little Star,

I shall check my diary. I think my Mr Mac's cooking a roast beef on Sunday. It was either his roast beef or washing my hair, I'm not quite sure what I was supposed to be doing this weekend but I suppose if it's so very important to you, then I could, theoretically, drop everything and come to Paris and hold your hand at your first Madonna concert.

Of course, being an old hand at Madonna, I won't be spend any time at all looking forward to it or dreaming about being there in front of a Goddess between now and then and I'll probably just spend the whole two hours just, like, yawning and stuff while you sit on my shoulders, whooping and flashing your tits at the cameras. (Don't think I haven't realised that I'm your tallest and strongest friend, darling!) There certainly won't be any jumping up and down in antici........... pation or wringing my hands with glee at the first bars of Like a Prayer. No, sirree!

OK, book me in.

With hard candy love and sticky & sweet quisses,

MM
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

ps. Give it to me, yeah! No one's gonna stop me- now!