Dear Diary: Work, work, work for the daring jester! The grand lady’s upcoming murder mystery ball has me running about doing random things to get things done in a random fashion. Masks and outfits, themes and roles – all in a big mess inside my head (and soon to be outside too)!
… And then people have the nerve to call me good at organizing! What an insulting thing to say to a wee jester, don’t they have any manners?! Worst is that there’s talk at the guild of me sitting for those damned “master tests” thingies. Master bard? Sitting? Me? I ‘fulfill all the criteria’ they say, whatever those criteria now may be. What in the world should a fool be ‘master’ at? It’s a contradiction of terms. Soon they’ll start calling me competent too! I can’t stand it! I need go talk to Mrs Buttons. She’ll know what to do.
188 thoughts on “Insults, ever insults”