blushing rose oolong.
Duckling~
Oh dear. I'm afraid that this entire unfortunate occurance is at least partially my fault.
You see, I had just been picking my teeth with an unfortunate delegation of borogoves that had chanced to blunder all miserable (but hardly flimsy, thank my petticoats) into the gazebo where I was taking my Terce tea, when a hapless Hatter and his mad compatriot Hare dropped by for a bit of a natter, and to deliver my Unbirthday gift.
The box was splendid, my dear! I must take a moment to reflect upon the box. It was vermilion laquer with onyx and jade inlay in the form of snail shells and poppies. It had been tied with a satin and gauze bow in carnelian. The inside of it was polished mahogany and diamond dust. I think my nine-chambered heart just about plopped out of my scaly breast, and I smothered them with smooches in sheer appreciation of the container, before I had a chance to observe the gift. This proved unwise.
You see, the chemichal reaction of the Hatter's cologne and the aromas from the box's contents-- which, as I'm sure you may guess, my darling, were an assortment of choice teas from the Hatter's pantry-- affected my allergies most severely. I found myself siezed in fits of violent and almost lethal sneezing, all the way from sext til nones! Needless to say, when I had finally recovered, Hatter, Hare, tea, and most tragically, the wonderful little box had dissappeared.
I pout profusely. The hat rack awaits you pending the arrival of the cleaning crews, or Scotland Yard. In the case of the latter, I am certain that lemon and sugar, at least will be forthcoming.
Yours in exhalations of embarrasment,
Das Jabberwock.
