...Hunger Games are on the fifth grade reading level. Being an Elder is about as appalling as breathing, compared to my reaction to that.
"Y'mean, *starting to freak out* To say that I've read more complicated *hyperventilates* literature than most people my age, and people Joshua's age are...
Remind me what the denizens are. I think I must have missed them.
ETA: If nothing else, we can throw him in the moat to feed the fish or the eels or whatever else lives in it.
Raining, huh? Mayhap that will convince my mother that quitting Bath and journeying to SC isn't as brilliant an idea as she thinks it is! Although, now that I think about it, it' s raining here... Maybe it wouldn't discourage her.
She can only be trusted in the sense that instead of sparkling at local boys, she laments that she will never be as adorable as British actors old enough to be her father.
Are you crazy, Eenie dear? You are like Mr. Wickham, except you cannot be trusted WITHOUT your bucket, whereas Wickham is merely a reptile who cannot be trusted with buckles or ribbons.
Sour, In my case, fangirling means hyperventilating until Wednesday, converting a friend to WOOLism over the fall, and replacing the "Jackman" with "Howey". And you needn't worry about the buckets. He's married, and has been for several years. The only thing they have resembling a child is a dog...
I have the coolest little sister. Maisy is sitting in the living room, entranced by the BBC Emma playing on my mother's laptop. And she's not even close to nine or ten, which is the age at which I became remotely interested in Jane Austen movies.
Actually, Sour, the entire idea of the tree octopus is a prank. In the April 2011 issue of the teens science magazine Muse, an article was written on California's Albino Redwood trees. Following the article was a page titled "Even More Unusual Trees" which explained the 1957 spaghetti tree...