Image by Steve Buissinne from Pixabay
A Letter from Cie to the Cosmic Bakery
Dear Cosmic Chef,
Was it fair of you to make me a mind that loves cooking up big dreams but has no freedom to fulfill them?
I asked you to make me pretty so that all of my dreams would come true.
I wanted to cook up amorous adventures with many handsome men on my dance card.
The door chime would jingle merrily, and there would be Tom or Dick or Harry, or Bill or George, or maybe Joe.
Or maybe my friend Sue would ring me, and we'd make merry on a double date with our charming cookies.
I'd only keep company with sophisticated Jimmies, never silly sausages playing a lame game, trying to tame me and keep me tethered to a stove.
My star would shine bright like sugar sparkles beneath the Hollywood sign.
The crowds would ooh and ahh as I strode down the red carpet in my chiffon gown with my honey-gold locks, gleaming smile, and soft, peaches-and-cream skin.
And when I found my Mr. Right, I would settle down in a delicious mansion with a panoramic view.
I would have my pick of the most substantial parts in the tastiest movies.
And, of course, my multitudes of adoring fans would drool over me.
In retrospect, I can see why you thought Hollywood was wrong for my tastes.
But why didn't you see fit to give me even a morsel of talent?
Or even the smallest sprinkling of pizazz?
I understand that people dislike me because I have the personality of mildewed marzipan.
I could accept the fact that only the most half-baked mind could envision me as erotic.
But giving me the appearance of a blob of gritty icing atop a melted ice cream cake left sitting in the sun?
I won't stand for it, and I demand a refund.
Cie the Ornery Old Lady
A Reply from the Cosmic Bakery
Dear Cie,
Apologies for cooking you up ahead of or behind your time and delivering you to the wrong Universe. It was unfortunate timing that the good men were already taken and you were related to the ones who hadn't been snapped up. We will try to improve our delivery on future orders.
We were bored with the surplus of bland, attractive dishes on your Universe's menu, so we stirred up a blend of uncommon attributes to create the unique stew that is you. Admissibly, you are an acquired taste that most individuals will not acquire. We cannot be held responsible for the lack of taste in the residents of your Universe.
We are unable to issue a refund at this late date, but we promise a deep discount on future orders. We trust that you will understand.
Sincerely,
Your Cosmic Chefs
Write a prime number poem.
There are two--count 'em--two perspectives.
Write a two-part poem in the form of the exchange of letters.
Will wonders never cease? I actually did this!
erotic
ICING
The Icky, Sticky, Nit-Picky Legalese If You Please (Or Don't Please)
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This is so clever and witty. Love it! You can’t get more unappealing than “mildewed marzipan”
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