Sour grapes

After hearing me play telephone tag and exchange text messages about tomorrow's lunch, this is what K had to say.

"Three little ghostesses,
Sitting on postesses,
Eating buttered toastesses,
Greasing their fistesses,
Upto their wristesses.
Oh, what beastesses
To make such feastesses."

So buck up, girls. Mother Goose or not, we can't let him get away with it. Let's make the envy real. Here's looking at you, ladies.

Cheers!