Do not feed the Mannie.

Mannie, of course, is the crazy bitch who agreed to dentistry tomorrow.

Mannie is a lot older than most of us.
She was 40 years old when we were 16. She arrived in our life rather suddenly. Popped in, she did, our Mary Anne, just as if we'd written out a little list of desirable qualities and summoned her through flame and smoke. Maybe we did just that, but I don't remember writing "unhealthy fascination with casserole carriers".

If you've been to a country fair any time in the last fifty years, you may have seen a item for sale called a "casserole carrier". This is a ludicrously ugly object. It's truly remarkable in it's ugliness. I have seen some so ugly that I have wondered, on occasion, glancing sideways at their maker;
"Is she taking the PISS?"
The casserole carrier tends to keep company with lace edged oven gloves and plastic bag stuff sacks made with farmyard animal prints.

Mannie really wants a casserole carrier.
She thinks they're great. They are just sooooooo handy!
They're just what you need for...carrying casseroles.