Well Sure, Who Doesn't Need

She Told Me If I Clean All The Ashes Out Of The Grate, Then I’ll Be Able To Help My Sisters Get Ready For The Bal.” “it’s Christmas, Dashiel. Can’t You Give That Atitude A Rest?” “merry Christmas, Dad. And Thanks For The Presents.” “what Presents?” “i’m Sorry—those Were All From Mom, Weren’t They?

Things Change All The Time, Mostly In Little Ways.

But I Know The Difference. Everyone Else Is A Ghost. I Exist Here Alone, Stranded By Choice. Deserted.

Perhaps It's Not That I'm Frigid-- It's That Once I Decide I Like A Guy, I Turn Into A Raging Idiot, Unfit For Public Appearances.

This Must Be Part Of Mother Nature's Master Plan—making These Boys So Irresistibly Cute, In Such A Naughty Way, That The Purity Of Their Intentions Becomes Irrelevant.