kinda looks like an old lady's handwriting from a birthday card to me. Which makes this even funnier.

I'm imagining some old lady sitting at her kitchen table, large bowl of plastic fruit sitting next to a small bowl of hard candy. The grandchildren don't come by as much as they used to. They used to love her vanilla wafers and hard candy, now she can't remember the last time she had to fill the bowl up. She even remember where she bought the candy to begin with. It was always just there it seemed. The red and white striped peppermint and the butterscotch candies have become slightly soft on the outside and fused together and shooed themselves in the bowl.

Having trouble concentrating, frustration contorts her face into an uncomfortable position. She sets aside her crossword puzzle book to jot this down in her little weathered notebook. The angry scowl on her face softens as she closes her cloth covered, floral lace diary and sides it across the table.

Her gaze settles on her garden outside her dining room window. She rubs the blister on her hand and a soft smile graces her evening sun kissed face at the sight of her freshly weeded garden.

Just as she began to turn her attention back to her open puzzle book she catches a glimpse of a rabbit scurrying from her cabbage, disappearing under her white fence.

She burned a hole in her unkempt fence where the vermin escaped with her deathly glare. Her husband was supposed to patch and repaint years ago.

"Why'd that lazy son of a bitch go and die when there's so much to be done around here?" she thought as her bony hand passed over her puzzle book back to the lacy floral covered book.

She opens the book back up to July 1, 1991 and picks up her pen,

"P.S..."