Читать книгу ‘… then he ate my boy entrancers.’ - Louise Rennison - Страница 5

Dear Chumettes and Chums,

I hope you are all righty as two all righty things. I am, though ONCE AGAIN I am full of exhaustiosity. I have been as busy as a bee (two bees) finishing my latest oeuvre. Oh yes, AND I have been to Hamburger-a-gogo land to see for myself the nation that cannot be bothered to put the “i” in the second half of words…like aluminium, for instance, which those lazy cats spell aluminum. Where would we be if none of us could be bothered to finish off our words properly? I’ll tell you where we would be, we would be up shi cree without a padd…that’s where.

As you will see, I have reached new heights of sophisticosity in this latest of my oevvres…boys, lipstick, snogging, snogging, red-bottomosity, jokes about sausages and pants – the list is endless.

I do this only because I love you.

Georgia

p.s. You don’t know what oevvre means, do you?

p.p.s. You think it is french for eggs, don’t you? Like oeuf.

p.p.p.s. You think I have been saying that I have just finished writing my new egg.

p.p.p.p.s. Look it up in the glossary, you lazy minxes, I am far too tired to explain. I have to go and have a lie down on my snogging emporium (bean bag)…zzzzzzzzzzzz.