Dear Man of the Well-Tailored Cloth,
Thank you so much for your phone call to TinyTuna. I was quite moved as I heard your impassioned message giving thanks that she had chosen your local IHoP (Interdenominational House of Prayer) as a place of worship, albeit it as a visitor. I know you were greatly concerned that you hadn't phoned sooner, but to be honest, she has been so consumed with Nancy Drew, Polygons, four-square and Scooby-Doo, she never felt slighted. As it is the season of forgiveness, I say let bygones be bygones. Praise God!
Thank you for your invitation to have TinyTuna come in for an informational chat. I'm sure she'd love to discuss the redemptive qualities of Krispy Kremes vs. Doughnut Holes, a 52-week Sunday School session that obliterates any obligation to sit through an entire church service, and finding your inner Holy Ghost in a bottle of silver glitter glue. I should warn you, however, that the last time she had a meeting with a Local Man of the Cloth, she didn't exactly follow his logic of Communion and Pilgrims, and when asked about the bread and the wine, she told him quite bluntly that she didn't want to talk about that; she wanted to talk about "the big window in the back."
I'm guessing that you were unable to discern from her Denelian-flavored visitor's card that you were not phoning an adult, but a ten year old child, who happens to be related to me. Have you forgotten that GramTuna and I bring our dog and pony show to your Tuna-flavored IHoP several times a year? We aren't exactly strangers, you know.
I should also be up front with the fact that when she was warming your pews, TinyTuna wasn't particularly happy. She was incarcerated in your House of God while attending the memorial recital last Sunday evening and spent the entire evening in a Satanic Snit that began at dinner and continued into the middle of the following week. While she angrily sighed, flopped, pouted, grumbled and made THAT FACE THAT I HATE, she was desperately searching for an outlet. I'm guessing the visitor's card was the first thing she found. I'm grateful you didn't find her second opus: a half-sheet of paper upon which she which graphically illustrated the caption: "I feel like a dead flower."
The crosses we must bear.
In conclusion, I feel it only right that I decline your invitation for a one-on-one with TinyTuna. Your spirit may be willing, but mine is weak. Besides, as a firm believer in the Power of Paycheck, I'm sure we'll be back again. Although I know your IHoP doesn't do pancakes, might I suggest in the meantime you might recite a litany to St. Long John? Hopefully next time she'll be in a better mood.
May the angels rejoice with cream filling and chocolate frosting,