Dear baby bouncer, please marry me

Is that weird? I mean it. Thank you for being the only reason any washing-up ever gets done around here.

 

With any luck, this bouncer and me will be hanging out in heaven together, sharing a mansion, sitting side-by-side on a heavenly bench to eat heavenly ice creams (vanilla flavoured, of course). If I don’t make it, I’m pretty sure the bouncer will.

That two pounds and seventy-one pence, I swear.

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Talk to me! I'll put the kettle on.

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