Saturday, April 3, 2010


Dear Mr. Dremel, Sir,

I've told you again and again that I do not like you.

I hate the sound that you make when my dad does my nails, and I really hate how it feels on my poor toes. Beauty is supposed to be luxorious, not uncomfortable. Am I right, ladies?
I've often thought about what I'd do with you if I found you unprotected. So, when my mom and dad left me home alone for a few hours this afternoon, I thought "now is my chance!"
Lucky for you, you weren't very tasty and escaped relatively unscathed.
Too bad that I can't say the same about my "after nails" treats. Yum!
Oh hi, Mom. You're home early...


I know what you are thinking, but I *swear* it wasn't me!


  1. Postscript: My mom asked me to point out that the items in question *should* have been out of my reach. I scaled the built-in bookcase to get to them. Not an easy task considering that they were hidden on the second-to-top shelf (about 5 feet tall).

    Impressed? I knew you would be.


  2. Blame Tucker. That's what we always do.

  3. Such a smart girl you are Laila!