Wizarding Britain need to come to a decision soon regarding the Weasley Twins. Either we acknowledge them as our overlords or we sentence them to a long jail term to be multiplied by the number of involutary celebrant they have roped into their birthday festivities.
As unappetising as their latest foray is however, like all crimes, it revealed some truths about its victims.
Oscar Wilde once said, "I choose my friends for their good looks." I do not think the two of you share the same criteria for friendship, but you are predisposed to a certain standard of pulchritude. I am well aware of how you rate my looks. It is a testament to the strength of our friendship then that it has endured in the face (mine in this case) of such homeliness. But the Twins' revelry showed me that the bonds of friendship, no matter how strong, can be stretched close to breaking point.
I had no idea that my appearance is a veritable house of cards. The absence of hair and a conventionally-cut robe are enough for it to collapse into a spectacle that elicit a response that, while not quite like the hysterical revulsion that follows a hunchback's clambering down of a church and precedes a gathering of pitchfork-waving rustics, is close to the caring disgust that prompts well-meaing relatives to volunteer the plainer elements of their family for the makeover feature in Witch Weekly.
I value our friendship and will do all that I can to ensure its longevity. To that end, I assure you that I will endeavour to be buffed and polished to the level of sheen worthy of a friend like you.
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