Tinker, tailor,
soldier, sailor, rich-man, poor-man … It’s not fair.
Cheer up. Next year, sometime, never; this year... Baby, gypsy, queen; lady... And you’ll go
to church in a carriage, wearing satin.
But, I want to marry Mr. Bridle.
Why? He’s not rich.
He’s my dentist.
He’s a tooth fairy.
© Sophia Roberts
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