One day, I was in FAO Schwarz with one of my dearest friends, who I shall call Puppy. Because...that's what I call him. We were there, well, okay, we were mostly there because we've not lost our sense of childlike whimsy. But we were also there so that I might purchase a giraffe. Not just any giraffe, a giraffe of sufficient grooviness, a giraffe who would be worthy of the name Baron von Groovy. We didn't find one. I also didn't find one of those Legolas arrow-shooting action figures. I was crushed. No, I was very upset. Okay, I was a bit put out. I went back to school Baron-less. Then, rejoice, my mother sent me a care package. One of the items was a small giraffe, barely the size of my palm. But oh, was he groovy. I immediately made him a tinfoil crown and placed him on top of the peanut butter. The Fruit Hoarder doesn't like him. Though that's probably because he tried to take over her desk so his serfs would have more room to farm. I told her we'd give her some of the earnings; but she'd have none of it. So you can imagine how happy she was when my mother sent me a tiger to be the Baron's friend. The tiger's name is Sir Seymour the Striped Who Conquered the Greeks in 877. All of Them. He enjoys attacking the unsuspecting.
In other news, I went salsa dancing last night and my very tall friend, who shall be known as The Boy Who Resembled a Tree, and I were getting our very-white groove on. We tried unsuccessfully to execute a strange twirl and his elbow connected with my cheek. Now I look like a victim of domestic violence. I hope his elbow suffered.
Maybe I'll send Sir Seymour his way.