It's late. Sorry.

Helen, the Queen of Mice, is fiddling with her royal cravat. Her stylist, Victoire, is making pancakes.

Victoire: Oh, Helen! Does not the smell of burning pancake batter not bring back such memories of childhood and alterations of syntax that your very heart doth swell and break and leak into the very frying pan which elicits these emotions?

Helen: Yes. Yes, it does.

Victoire: Why, I remember when, as a child, I...

Helen: Victoire?

Victoire: Yes, Your Majesty.

Helen: Shut your mouth.

Victoire: Hmfff bmmp jfff trfgnn gnnt nff...

Helen: Victoire?

Victoire: Mmmf?

Helen: Open your mouth, stop talking.

Victoire: ...

Helen: Victoire?

Victoire: ...

Helen: When will he arrive?

Victoire: ...

Helen: You may speak.

Victoire: He said he will be here at half-past, as he has to wash his car. And he woke up late because of strange dreams about the past and knives.

Helen: Victoire? Do you think he will mind?

Victoire: Your Majesty?

Helen: Will he mind... that I am a mouse?

Victoire: ...

THERE IS A LOUD KNOCK AT, AND ON, THE DOOR
Helen: Enter!

***
I got bored at this point. I just wanted to write something. Sorry.

Here's an amusing video to make up for it:

[I couldn't find an amusing video. Sorry.

Here's an amusing photo to make up for it:]


{I couldn't find an amusing photo. Sorry.

Here's an amusing pun to make up for it:}


(I couldn't think of an amusing pun. Sorry.

Here's a circular blog post to make up for it:__)