This week I celebrated the vernal equinox and got my credit card statement for the month. My situation is redolent of Edna St. Vincent Millay's:
Dear Harriet Monroe—
Spring is here. —and I could be very happy, except that I am broke. Would you mind paying me now instead of upon publication for those so stunning verses of mine which you have? I am become very, very thin, and have taken to smoking Virginia tobacco.
Wistfully yours,
Edna St. Vincent Millay
P.S. I am awfully broke. Would you mind paying me a lot?
1 comment:
Prayers will do well, my dear, but are you awfully broke? Because that won't do. Not at all.
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