It has been two weeks since I last saw any sign of my possessions. I fear that all is lost, but I must not give up hope. I must think of my baby-- My Wee-Wee Cat who I believe, in a sweet, albeit misguided attempt to sympathize with my discontentedness, has taken to urinating all over my goose down duvet. Oh Wee-Wee Cat, please leave the lamentation to me.
Diary, I would like to believe that there is still a possibility that my treasures might arrive back to me post haste, but having been thwarted in all previous attempts to trace them... Alas, there is not much left to do but wait.
Oh, if only Sir Retardo Crossroads McCourier had not been given the responsibility of looking after my valise. I take little comfort in the knowledge that many other innocent and hauntingly beautiful young women were put in the same compromising situation.
And Lord Federal, of Expressshire... Do your promises mean nothing? You promised that day, under the old oak tree, that you would come through and deliver unto me my package before yesterday was o'er. And then it was this morn'. And then the afternoon. And now the eve is almost upon us and I have nothing. Not even a tissue with which I might dry mine eyes. Sigh.
Yours Sorrowfully,
Beatrice
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