These fine pantaloons were designed and tailored for me by a young condiment heiress, somewhere in Prussia, small village circa 1891, forget her name... She was to inherit the vast fortune of "Uncle Poppelczeck's Creamy-Mustard-Pancake-Spread" which could also be used as a moustache emollient, I might add, and straight away I was rather smitten with her, for you see I had been grooming my moustache with "Uncle Poppelczeck's Cream" for some time before we met. Honestly I don't know which I had been taken with, her or the cream? Upon further thought I entertained the latest proverb newly penned by a former chum of mine which is simply; "Why buy the milk when you can own the cow?" Brilliant! So I set my sights...

As it were, the morning after our two tender hearts tangled, she makes for me the most thrilling and wonderful pantaloons I'd ever gazed eyes upon.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the only thing she had crafted me. It was there, upon her "griddle" located in her kitchen that she had sculpted the most retched breakfast I had ever sensed, "pancakes" she called them; small cakes made of yellow matter and she began boasting of her family's condiment to which I stated, "but I thought it was a moustache sculpting cream...?"

"Not so," she replied with a faint smile.

Before I could regain my wits enough to exclaim "poppy-cock!" she began to goop her family spread upon these "panned-cakes" very thick and quite rich. It was as if she were fattening me up like a lowly townster, getting me to become one of the family's addicts, as it were. Well, no sir! Not I. Not eEvilyn Diddly Scott! Feeling quite betrayed and meeting no other clear stratagems in my mind's eye, I did the only rational thing I could do. Like the past betrayals of my former delicate flowers, I simply tied her to the local railroad track. Shortly after this episode I transcomported myself to America; Buffalo, New York, to be exact.

For more of my memoirs, click here upon your computerized "mouse."

Ta,

eEvilyn Diddly Scott