"First grubs obscene, then wriggling worms, Then painted butterflies."—Alexander Pope, Phryne

Maybe I'm bewitched, but I'm not bothered and certainly I'm not bewildered by Sean Griffin's too divinely unbelievable disquisition on one of everybody's favorite topics, and I'm not going to waste space by saying what that is, because you just read the title and subtitle and you'll know what I mean. So don't be a lazy little troll; just do your homework and I'll do mine, and we're going to get along just fine, you and me. I mean, you and I.

Now I am utterly—and I mean entirely, totally, and completely—convinced that Tinker Belles and Evil Queens is a vital work of our time, for so many reasons that I simply can't enumerate all of them in the stringent space limitation imposed on my freewheeling discourse by the rather bitchy editor of this section of this rather retrograde journal (and believe me, my little chickadees, they could all use some consciousness-raising around here). But clutch my pearls, my extempore effusions are just exhausting my precious space—I'm caught in the glow of my own brilliance, just trapped by the sound of my own dulcet tones! What's a girl to do?

I simply must pull myself together. But where to start? Begin...

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