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The butcher near me makes this horrible little mince man in the window each day and so now I see a mince man more often than my own family.
The butcher is never to be seen. Perhaps the mince man *is* the butcher.
I don't want a mince man. I want my mum.
Choose your side of history.
This is the most I've talked to people all year. I can't wait to tell Mince Man about this.
At the end of the day, aren't we all just Mince Men?
I am sorry I called it horrible now. It's not mince man's fault. I've just lost my job, house and all my possessions in this pandemic and I was lashing out at the one friend who has stood by me. I'm sorry mince man.
Maybe it's a Banksy.
I never see a Mrs. Mince either. Mincestress? Mincess?
