((Backdated to the afternoon after the
ickle!incident.))
Steph woke up with a pounding headache, feeling so very hungover. Which was weird, considering she didn’t drink. And she couldn’t remember any recent head injuries. What the heck-
Oh. Oh. Junk food. It had betrayed her so.
She recalled wolfing down a brownie. After that, things were fuzzy. From the bits that she could piece together, there was some very major damage control to attend to. Buff Orpington had his work cut out for him.
Dear Fraser,
I’m sorry I:
A) Called you a pickle butt. I would offer some sort of reassurance as to the non-pickleness of your butt, but any further discussion of said glotonius glutenious gluteus maximum body part kind of makes me queasy.
B) Stole your hat. Even though it probably looked awesome on me.
C) Insinuated that you and your dead father were plotting some sort of ‘bust’.
I was going to attach some candy as an apology, but then I realized you’re Canadian. And they don’t like candy, right? So here is an apple. Enjoy!
-Steph, who is still very sorry
The apple of mention has been half-eaten by a slothful Buff Orpington
Invisible BrainsHairgel,
What do you remember about last night?
-Steph
Lily,
Hello, there! Can my sharp pointy things be sharp and pointy again please? Pleeeeease? Pleasepleaseplease? I’m having some transfiguration issues vis-a-vie (visavee? Visaphfe?) some completely innocent, entirely inconspicuous formerly-metal objects I own.
Also, I am not 5 anymore.
-Steph