I write this from the Compaq, the evile, evile Compaq who refuses to allow MAN to operate. It tells me there is no internet connection which is ironic, since I am currently on the internet. I have decided it is a conspiracy conspiring to keep me away from my dear Fidgers.
What, you ask, you cannot find another computer? Are you an idiot?
Well, yeah, pretty much. Dad hooked up the Dell upstairs but the Dell is still riddled with all those icky viruses and stuff so I don't like to touch it because it screams and me and does horrific things. This is my excuse.
But, still, I am desperate and I just wanted you guys to know that I haven't forgotten about you at all (I think of you quite often when I get sad and then I am happier because Fidge is Fidge and Fidge is sacred). I mish you lots and lots and lots and I know that somewhere, over the rainbow, you are out there in Fidgia doing Fidge-like things. I am with you in spirit, my little ones, I am with you in spirit.
The Fidge bag is doing terrific. I loce it muchly and when I pass it off to Carolyn (which shall be soon, I assure you) I will be very, very sad-like because the Bag is dear and it is concentrated Fidge. However, I know other Fidgers must enjoy it and I will suffer for your happiness, m'dears!
Anyway. Yeah. That's my excuse. I miss you and I'm desperate for a dose of some good Fidge but, you know, until I can find a MAN that works, we must be separated like this. Alas! Alack!