. . . still comes back toast!
have you ever
Aha! Gotcha! 'Cause you see, I am serious. I am as serious as cellulite. I wrote a letter on a loaf. I buttered it well. I will cast it upon the mail waters, and pray that it makes its destination as warm, lovely toast.
Please, please, please! Be honest. Don't read other people's mail! It's not nice. But, if you do, I will beat you till you're buttered and blue. With another loaf. I had too much fun writing this. My neck hurts like someone gave it a karate chop, but it was hurting before I started writing.So . . . And let me tell you, it's not easy writing on bread. It makes you squint, 'til it hurts inside your head. Still, and all . . .
Oh, what fun it is to write on wheat or rye at night! Oh! Buttered mail, buttered mail, buttered mail tonight! Oh, what fun it is to write on wheat or rye at night.
I almost sliced it, but I have a thing with sharp objects. I might try it again; slice it; add layers of cheese, lettuce, onions, mushrooms . . . Then again, it might lose its charm the second time around. Or not.
It has to dry overnight. Better photos tomorrow, because I'll have natural light. One more time! I HAD SO MUCH FUN!
(Please, don't read the letter. I trust you.)