Downtown in the Abbey
Dear Ms Rossetta,
It's unusual for a woman such as myself to write for advice rather than remain the recipient of woes and foes and puppy dogs tails. Although, I must say, there's been plenty of snips and snails from lassies too, apposing with the most vigilant rejection, sugar and spice and everything nice and vice versa. It goes both ways. What I mean to ask is, how did you get on with Mr. S. C. Rouge? Did you manage to win his affections and where pray tell might the magical key be found now, just out of interest, er, for interest sakes or... perhaps I might also be interested or would that vex you Ms Rosie? I hope I haven't made cause for offence and that in our correspondence, we might exist within the stylings of a Jane Austen novel. Oh I could think of nothing more romantic at all. And on the subject of hope my dear fine lady, if you were to pierce my soul I am half in agony and half in hope and so no piercings just yet. But please remember this, There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves. It is not in my nature.
Yours in friendship and love,
Ms Nixie xx
Dear Ms Nixie,
I shouldn't say yes or I couldn't say No. And you certainly can't imagine how much I've tried but never did I give up on him. Oh I have tried once, twice and thrice and I wanted a good chance to use the word thrice, for I must also point all needlework to the centre of Pemberley Estate and agreed, Ms Jane shall be our guiding light then Ms N.
You see, round here, locksmiths are plenty hard to get hold of. Mr Rouge has been provided with many keys in time, but preferred on inspection to throw every offer to the gutters of heaving sewerage and darkness. In many ways my heart has had to remain under lock and key. This man Mr. Rouge, holds the key on a chain and there are all manner or ways in which he could be the greatest locksmith of all time and me the key employee of a very grande and lively and soft and lovely and broken heart. The trouble is grammar and more. The devil himself has taken hold of this mans quill. In fact, I might go as far as to say, a tyrannical grammar has taken hold in the shape of marching capital letters all profanity and masochistic brazen bullying of anything appearing in the lower case, not to mention the great hulking haul of fullstops he's insisted on bombing all over the page. In effect, the common comma has been almost ridden into near extinction and it's worth for the joining and coining of words in peace rejected like a lonely question mark never fully answered. He's the baddest boy of all.
In the mean time I did manage to organise a quasi date at the Antiques mart but he kept complaining about feeling suffocated by the cold and a melting desire for giant pipes. I insisted on the purchase of a gorgeous blue chaise lounge but not long after learnt he was nothing more than the wolf at our door eating perry perry chicken with a girl who kissed a girl and some boys thrice or possibly more. All I can say, is that my heart hardened, loaded up, spasmed and narrowly missed infarction. I'm afraid there is no answer.
Yours Ms Rosetta
Dear Ms Rosie,
While life may, at times, seem like a quick succession of busy nothings, never say never. Now you listen to me ma lady and in the mean time what is right to be done cannot be done too soon. While we work on our plan, might I recommend you lay back on that chaise lounge and call in a Leonardo look alike, a man, to do the work for a change. Put your feet up, chillax a little and have a saucy portrait done, hey? For the future though, I did happen to come by a stoke of luck via a youtube clip. Listen, there is safety in reserve but not attraction, One cannot love a reserved person. And so step forward. Be Bold. From what you have described, I suspect we might be dealing with one of those rappy chappies, a man who likes to hippety hoppity rather than dance the waltz with a certain step towards falling in love. The profanities and so forth you describe as this man's mode of operandi, alludes my watchdog senses to a fellow possibly into this kind of correspondence;
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-b_xiWmFWgY
I can't stop in long Miss Rosie, as I'm rather occupied painting parasols and preparing spatchcock for tea but I would like to now retract my interest in this man of the town for I fear for myself he sounds a little fast and furious. I'm afraid my penchant is for soft, snaggly, snuggly, introverted nerdgasms. I think perhaps this bookish heart wouldn't at all become compatible with the man you have described. I'm afraid with terrible regret that there is no hope for me and Mr Rouge. But, perhaps for you this wha wha and his dogs baby mama is the one. You got the banging bang, you got the meat rack to be buggin' with ya buck. Krunk it up sista and I'll be Scooby Doo (not literally) if the new you from the Downtown underground doesn't find the top to bottom combination lock real quick. But do be careful, shit takes many forms. Watch out for droppings.
I'll be home alone though imagining for the best and I'm quite sure I will not be in charge of time too well for I could not fix an hour or the spot or the look of words which laid the foundations. It is too long ago and I was in the middle before I knew what had begun. I must go uncertain of my fate.
I will miss you. Best of like with Mr Rouge.
Yours
Ms Nixie.
It's unusual for a woman such as myself to write for advice rather than remain the recipient of woes and foes and puppy dogs tails. Although, I must say, there's been plenty of snips and snails from lassies too, apposing with the most vigilant rejection, sugar and spice and everything nice and vice versa. It goes both ways. What I mean to ask is, how did you get on with Mr. S. C. Rouge? Did you manage to win his affections and where pray tell might the magical key be found now, just out of interest, er, for interest sakes or... perhaps I might also be interested or would that vex you Ms Rosie? I hope I haven't made cause for offence and that in our correspondence, we might exist within the stylings of a Jane Austen novel. Oh I could think of nothing more romantic at all. And on the subject of hope my dear fine lady, if you were to pierce my soul I am half in agony and half in hope and so no piercings just yet. But please remember this, There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves. It is not in my nature.
Yours in friendship and love,
Ms Nixie xx
Dear Ms Nixie,
I shouldn't say yes or I couldn't say No. And you certainly can't imagine how much I've tried but never did I give up on him. Oh I have tried once, twice and thrice and I wanted a good chance to use the word thrice, for I must also point all needlework to the centre of Pemberley Estate and agreed, Ms Jane shall be our guiding light then Ms N.
You see, round here, locksmiths are plenty hard to get hold of. Mr Rouge has been provided with many keys in time, but preferred on inspection to throw every offer to the gutters of heaving sewerage and darkness. In many ways my heart has had to remain under lock and key. This man Mr. Rouge, holds the key on a chain and there are all manner or ways in which he could be the greatest locksmith of all time and me the key employee of a very grande and lively and soft and lovely and broken heart. The trouble is grammar and more. The devil himself has taken hold of this mans quill. In fact, I might go as far as to say, a tyrannical grammar has taken hold in the shape of marching capital letters all profanity and masochistic brazen bullying of anything appearing in the lower case, not to mention the great hulking haul of fullstops he's insisted on bombing all over the page. In effect, the common comma has been almost ridden into near extinction and it's worth for the joining and coining of words in peace rejected like a lonely question mark never fully answered. He's the baddest boy of all.
In the mean time I did manage to organise a quasi date at the Antiques mart but he kept complaining about feeling suffocated by the cold and a melting desire for giant pipes. I insisted on the purchase of a gorgeous blue chaise lounge but not long after learnt he was nothing more than the wolf at our door eating perry perry chicken with a girl who kissed a girl and some boys thrice or possibly more. All I can say, is that my heart hardened, loaded up, spasmed and narrowly missed infarction. I'm afraid there is no answer.
Yours Ms Rosetta
Dear Ms Rosie,
While life may, at times, seem like a quick succession of busy nothings, never say never. Now you listen to me ma lady and in the mean time what is right to be done cannot be done too soon. While we work on our plan, might I recommend you lay back on that chaise lounge and call in a Leonardo look alike, a man, to do the work for a change. Put your feet up, chillax a little and have a saucy portrait done, hey? For the future though, I did happen to come by a stoke of luck via a youtube clip. Listen, there is safety in reserve but not attraction, One cannot love a reserved person. And so step forward. Be Bold. From what you have described, I suspect we might be dealing with one of those rappy chappies, a man who likes to hippety hoppity rather than dance the waltz with a certain step towards falling in love. The profanities and so forth you describe as this man's mode of operandi, alludes my watchdog senses to a fellow possibly into this kind of correspondence;
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-b_xiWmFWgY
I can't stop in long Miss Rosie, as I'm rather occupied painting parasols and preparing spatchcock for tea but I would like to now retract my interest in this man of the town for I fear for myself he sounds a little fast and furious. I'm afraid my penchant is for soft, snaggly, snuggly, introverted nerdgasms. I think perhaps this bookish heart wouldn't at all become compatible with the man you have described. I'm afraid with terrible regret that there is no hope for me and Mr Rouge. But, perhaps for you this wha wha and his dogs baby mama is the one. You got the banging bang, you got the meat rack to be buggin' with ya buck. Krunk it up sista and I'll be Scooby Doo (not literally) if the new you from the Downtown underground doesn't find the top to bottom combination lock real quick. But do be careful, shit takes many forms. Watch out for droppings.I'll be home alone though imagining for the best and I'm quite sure I will not be in charge of time too well for I could not fix an hour or the spot or the look of words which laid the foundations. It is too long ago and I was in the middle before I knew what had begun. I must go uncertain of my fate.
I will miss you. Best of like with Mr Rouge.
Yours
Ms Nixie.
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