What a way to spend that special day, in jail with three guys that could be named Bubba. All I wanted to do was get everything I needed for the ritual, but no, I had to be brought in with these cretins. This is such a horrible misunderstanding. Of course, the cops keep telling me “tell it to the judge.”

I headed to my favorite apothecary and picked up a wonderful blend he mixed specially for me. Next, I went to the outdoor market and purchased a fresh hen. What happened next is embarrassing and how I now sit in this dank cell. I turned the corner headed to the tailors when a crowd of people swarmed around me. I became disoriented. I dropped my hen, splat on the ground—at least she still had feathers. I reached down to pick her up. Someone kicked my poor hen and she slid across the cobbles. I lost my balance and reached forward to grab hold of something or someone so I would not fall.

The woman screamed; it appears that I took hold of her ample breast. Her man took me by the back of the neck and shoved me away from them. I pummeled into some hooligans. They took offense to me touching them and circled me before starting to punch me. I felt the bottle of potion loosen in my pocket and it came crashing to the ground, its sweet aroma wafting in the air. I quickly reached down and took the neck of the broken bottle in my hand, hoping beyond hope that there would be some left.

The boys began to back away. That is when I heard the thunder of boots stomping on the street. I looked up and before I could react further, the officer manhandled me and forced the jagged bottle from my grasp. Two of the boys that circled me escaped.

Now I sit here, waiting and hoping that I will not miss all of the night and the celebration. How I long to dance merrily with my kith and kin. I only wished to look good in the eyes of Cupid, to whom we would celebrate, so that he would show mercy on me and find me a heart to love and Bubba one, two or three do not fit the bill. GULP.

Read all the entries at Wakefield Mahon’s blog.

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