Remember that time my mom gave me bloomers at my bridal shower? Well. There's more to that story.
If you need context, Harriet the Spy is one of my dearest imaginary friends. I've known her since the days of Diaryland, where I called myself Fairlywell. (You know, as in: How are you? I am Fairlywell.") Years and years ago we made the leap from imaginary to real friends, and now we bike together and (apparently) tell stories about each others' underwear purchases. I have no shame; this is absolutely the funniest thing that's ever happened to me.