Stevie,
I know you're not a private person, but I can't believe you said all of those things in front of these people. I thought that was just for us. You were my Fairie Godfather. You always held me and called me your little girl, while you fed me my baby bottle of Guiness. The drink always helped to relax me before you took out your little magic wand (BTW there are things now that can help with that problem).
"Stevie?" No, Stevie was your filthy uncle who wore the dilapidated Santa Claus suit all year long. That must be who you're telling stories about. I was never called Stevie.
I'm the one who'd check in on you and your family every so often to see if you'd progressed to two-syllable words. When you finally got there, at age twenty-two, we started working on spelling. Do you remember that?
...No. You obviously don't.
We'll get back to the lessons, so that the next time I call you an inconsequential nematode you'll be able to repeat it with accuracy. It looks like we have some time, as you haven't even progressed to
that much significance yet, you trifling, insipid little fungus.
That you even have a thread with your name on it was bound to give you delusions of grandeur. I didn't know it'd inflate your ego so much you'd start fantasizing about
me. I'll try to manage your expectations better next time.
