I'm going to find a medium and slap Hans Christian Andersen silly.

Isn't it an odd feeling to find oneself having wishes similar to Unity's?

We have something that sings at night--goatsuckers, maybe. They're not that loud, fortunately, and we have to use the air conditioning cos of everyone's allergies, so the singing isn't such a problem. The thought of it being louder and closer and the windows open... you have my sympathy.