Dee is a curious mixture of peanut butter and a toothache: ordinary and immensely aggravating. If peanut butter were to have a brain, she would be rich. And indeed she is. Perhaps that is what renders her to be perpetually angry at the world and almost everything she comes into contact with.

Let fancy takes flight, and she is a coquettish assassin. Oh, but she does flirt! Leads you on and on, and drops the axe when you're dazed with passion.
She walks in long strides, as if in competition with something and one is lost in rhythm as one watches: heigh-ho, heigh-ho...

I have experienced fairly strong impulses to address the lady as 'pea-butt'. 'Toothache', sadly, cannot really be mutilated to produce such an ingenious moniker.

So there goes Miss Pea-butt, living her peanut-butterish (read: mundane, dull, insipid, superbly tame, wishy-washy) life because she believes it to be peanut-butterish, with an everlasting frown on her face, giving an impression of a ripe toothache, providing others with similar sensations.

And why did I write about Miss Pea-butt? Well. I was aggravated.