Wednesday, June 13, 2007


Hey you, Prince Charming, where in the Sam Hill are you? I've been waiting, but honestly, I can't wait much longer. I don't have a hundred years to give to sleep. What's with you anyway? Just because I live in the middle of a nursery doesn't mean that people actually "Keep the Grounds" or "Keep the Hounds at Bay." Are you just too busy with your allemandes, courtly picnics, lawn bowling and general frou-frou nonsense? What's up with this ignoring me? You know the plan. You're supposed to ride up on your white horse and save me. Get off your royal bum and fulfill your purpose. Pull up your hose, throw on that cape and get a move on. If you're too lazy or otherwise occupied, at least send the Palace Guard. Make sure they are armed with sacateurs, machetes, blow torches and Round Up. A backhoe would be a nice touch. I'm not exaggerating, these blackberries are deadly serious. They are not timid creatures. You know that along with flies, cockroaches and certain unmentionable diseases they will inherit the earth. I just don't want it to be my little patch of earth. I'm trying to be patient, but honestly I'm desperate. I give them two weeks and they'll be strangling the life out of me.
Your truly,
Briar Rose.

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