Dear Mr. NetflixDear Mr. Netflix:
I wish to inform you most humbly and with utmost apology that my dog seems to have eaten "The Queen." I realize she was arriving today, and I had set out the tea cozies, prepared the scones and clotted cream, and polished the silver. Unfortunately, she seems to have arrived while the house was unattended (except by the dog; see above). Perhaps she is simply lost in transit, and you can notify her of my address via her royal GPS. However, the presence of oblong silver plastic pieces, many with tooth-marks, and the tattered shreds of slightly damp red and white paper would appear to indicate her untimely end at the jaws of my otherwise abundantly friendly pitbull-mix. Perhaps it was the whole Corgi thing. He hates Corgis, and I must confess, I don't see the point of putting a big dog head on that short, stumpy body. Plus, they don't seem to realize that they are funny looking, and so they always manage to be arrogant and offensive, especially after one-too-many pints at the pub.
Please tell the people of England that I am really, really sorry--and so is my dog. As an apology, we will be donating the leftovers from our high tea to a food bank in London, if we can afford the refrigerated shipping.
Really, we are most embarrassed, and we are sorry that this sorry fate didn't befall that "last king of scotland guy" (who, by the way, was never shown among his Scottish subjects, which made the movie very confusing. And I have not had any luck in discovering just how he was related to Mary, Queen of Scots. I don't mean to complain, but I have a pretty good handle on my European history, and except for maybe Napoleon III (okay, there were those rumors about Hitler), I am pretty sure none of the monarchs I studied were people of color. And by the way, what happened to the kid with epilepsy?). At least the scottish guy genuinely deserved to be eaten.
P.S. Can I keep the slightly dented tiara I found under the couch?