#miss cursive

When Miss Cursive (seen on the left here, affectionately obliterating her sister Wiglet in their dirt bath) died, the only person possibly more distraught than me was my seven year-old next door neighbor (and her siblings, but Sofia was especially crushed.)

Above is the paean she wrote (and mournfully sang for me, from her side of the fence) the day after Miss Cursive’s death. (Please note that she misspelled “friend” as “fried” and we did not eat Cursive.)

Good god, it’s Spring. The Ladies are pushing ‘em out like upside down Pez dispensers.

Ooof, the ouefs.