There Ought To Be a Form Called a Krutsinger

I heard the towel call my name; its tone was rather dry. “She saw you dripping on the floor, your wife would surely die.” I wondered what made it so rude: a cheeky little guy But then I saw no monogram; I knew the answer why. I thought the comment rather lame, what, coming from a fleece. I took it down to Wilson’s pond and gave it to the geese. ---------- If there isn't a form called a Krutsinger, there ought to be. Some truly random, delightful litte bits come across my feed. In honor of Caren, I thought I might try a few