Dear Beatrice Buttercups,
My love, my angel-delight, I see you from afar, in that frosted fruit bowl of cut glass.
You are like the sun. Close up you are as yellow as the twinkly stars in the sky, as childlike as the elves in the garden center.
Your skin is so delicately jaundiced, you drive me wild. You make me want to hang up my scalping knife and end my cannibalistic ways.
There is no other banana that I would rather eat. Your smooth skin, I wish to caress. I wish to place you in the most beautiful sundae boat and together we can go sailing towards that infinite sunset.
I want to smother you in whipped cream my dear. I have often dream of you, sliding out of your beautiful yellow skin to expose the pale, soft skin beneath. Your nubile, fruity body, I wish to taste your bananoffe pie.
But wait! How will we do it my love? Your lack of sexual genitalia is most disturbing.
But no, we shall improvise! To the Grocery section at Sainsburies!
All my love,
Bandi
Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii xx
