But Who Is This "Jolly Rancher?"

But who is this "Jolly Rancher?"

Fetch him Forth.

I'm A Wizd

Hrrrm! *I look a trifle thwarted* [the frog appreciates the gesture] *it looks a trifle Warted*

Poorf! *Summons a frog onto your head* (it is polite but uncomfortably Moist.)

Suddenly I'm a favored mistress of the court, sinking into my bower after the banquet, smiling at the thought that he may pass beneath my window, and catch the scent of the familar attar of those golden mornings. May he remember those days well, and may he remember all his knowing smiles, when he thought himself so clever as forsake and cleanly rid himself of an adoring lover (a peniless maid of no account, no danger yet to him) and may it prick him now that I am worshipped by the very august personage whose jacket he is not fit to button.

Putting perfume on before bed feels so luxe and so crusty at the same time. It's giving Marie Antoinette, Versailles energy.

Girl, help. Just like, in general.