Honest to god, I cannot focus on anything today. Shutter speed, I hardly know, her nimble nail cracked finger forgot to set; and in writing to you, I must fess, I feel as safely exposed as my wanton but not so very ambling darling dandelion. Darling as the dear nymphet is so easy to please – never mind my bed of pale fire, dear worm, you had me at Soufflé.

But why lionize the tooth fairy, you ask? Truth be fairly told, apart from the hinted irony, at which you might speedily shudder for the mess and flashy fuss I have made over it, I am, though willing, unable to pinpoint anything else because, honest to god, I cannot focus on anything today.