Let's Get Down to Brass Tacks, Shall We?

Dear Molly,

Are you planning on starting a cult? Don't get me wrong, I think you're totally rad and all, but I'm just not sure I want to drink the lemonade. Yet, anyway. Let's talk details. Maybe you could tell me a little more about what I would get. Because, you know, it's all about me. All the time.

Like, would I get to ride first class on the super-sonic express rocket to Planet Molly? When we get there, what kind of living quarters are we talking? I want a seven-floor Frank Lloyd Wright-esque tree house in which all the appliances work by magic and make faint twinkling sounds when I use them. I want a swimming pool filled with holy water and love. I want a Border Collie/Samoyed mix named Drummer 2.0 to keep me company. I want to drink champagne everyday and when it rains, I want for it to rain champagne and sunshine, and nothing else.

Also, I want Paris. The whole of it. If Paris isn't part of the deal, I'm out.

So. Are these things you can work with? If so, sign me up. I'll be your Simon-Peter in a heartbeat.

Thanks,
Kate