Literally. This is a letter.
There is a special place in my body for red wine. That place used to be called my liver. In an (un)fortunate turn of events that may or may not have involved a hot tub, a bottle of wine to myself and a YM-like confessional of the fact nobody wanted to be my date to my high school graduation SO I DIDN’T GO, I spent last evening in the company of some lovely gentleman and a lot of bats? I know right. Dear baby jesus – please make the pain go away, and send me some mini-pies on a stick. Then maybe I can poke them far enough down into my stomach so as not to be reacquainted with them in a scant ten minutes.
(The girl who turned away from church when they stopped using the good tea and the fancy tea cups and nobody wore hats there like in the movies. )