Even though I know she’ll kill me for this, in her own inimitable long-distance way, I am going to raise a hue and cry about it anyway…
As the best bloke in Skegness would say, please go here and wish Snowball a happy birthday. Make a big fuss over her. Pinch her cheek. Ask her if there’s any cake left.
In all seriousness, I am here to celebrate Snowball, for if there were no Snowball, there would be no Prepare to Meet Your Bakerina. It was she who encouraged me to start this little page you’re reading right now; it was she who opened up her home to me on the Great Trek West; and it is she who listens to my various tales of woe, gives me cheerful good advice, never calls me a clueless stubborn mope (which I am, really), and always, always comes back for more. She is an angel of a writer, a demon of a worker—Three Stooges Capital had better know how lucky they are—and a brilliant and loving mom to two of the best kids to be found west of the Mississip. She is whip-smart, very very funny and her grasp on great works of literature, philosophy, song lyrics and movie dialogue is not encyclopedic; it’s better than that. I know I’m not the only one out there who feels this, way, either; everyone who has been lucky enough to meet her knows what a good thing it is to call Snowball your friend.
Okay, Snow, you can start with the pummelling now. Just try not to go for the eyes, because I just got my new contact lenses. Is there any cake left?
Edit: Michael has informed me kindly that I left off a bit of detail on just how Snowball encouraged me to blog. Those interested in the tale—or those who love to see an interesting story told in soporific prose—may find it in the comments section.