This time she’s different by @thenatewolf

Dearest Mother,

It has been a week since our last correspondence and I find the need to write you again to explain a few things about my last letter. It seems as though I may have spoken a little to soon with some of the sweeping declarations that I made when last I wrote.

I feel some of the things I told you may have set you to alarm prematurely and I hope the contents of this letter will ease any fear or angst that I may have caused you.

Maria has moved back in and we couldn’t be happier. I know that when last I wrote, I had asked Maria to leave the house you bought us. The truth (as Maria generously explained to me) is that women are want to do foolish things at times in the very same way a man is. I chew loudly, and leave the lights on all the time, who am I to judge her? We have all our flaws. I’m not so repressed that I can’t experiment a little and allow my wife to do the same.

Sourced from digital.library.upenn.edu

Do you remember the time when father forgot to buy the ribbon for your sister’s birthday ham? Or how he would always confuse the day of your wedding anniversary with the day you first met? You certainly found a way to forgive him, and I think that I should be able to do the same with my sweet Maria.

Even now, I am overtaken with such a passion for Maria that I have an unstoppable urge to reminisce of the first time I set eyes on the angel that god sent to me. As you well know, she was working at the local abattoir, and there was something about how she would cut the throats of those know-it-all pigs that I found completely enchanting. Maybe it was her dead, shark-like eyes or the way she would giggle as the hogs let out their death rattle… I said “I liked the way she worked the blood catcher,” she said she “loved to ham it up,” and then put a pig’s head over her own and trotted around the room.

I should stop, I’m sure that you are positively bored, you’ve heard that story so many times. We’ve both grown so much since then, not just because of the growth elixir that Maria drank, but inside as well. For example: I no longer smoke, and Maria no longer screams when she sleeps. Funny how things can change in a two-weeks.

I pray that you ignored the more dramatic requests of my last letter. I like to think that you know me better than I know myself, but just in case, I would like to clarify a few things.

If you did contact Sheriff Duggerdows, please let him know that Maria and I are back together and happier than ever. I’d like to drop any charges that may have been levied under my request, and rescind my order to have my wife shot, and burned, and drowned, and trampled.

Secondly, if you did sell the plot reserved for Maria next to mine in our family crypt, I beg you to find whoever had the audacity to purchase it and void the transaction. I hate to think of a world in which I would have to face the eternity of the afterlife without my wind, my rock, my light.

Finally, if you did contact Miss Maybelline Corn-Rodgers Pennychance O’hare (and I certainly pray that you did not!), please contact her again as quickly as you possibly can and inform her that I do not intend to marry her, no matter what my last letter may have said. I don’t care that she is the wealthiest widow in the history of humanity, or the most successful Architect/Composer/Cookbook Author/Bikini Model in the world. I love Maria and nothing is going to change that no matter how giant she grows.

I feel ever so foolish for putting you through so much turmoil. To have involved you so many of our quarrels that seem so trivial in hindsight: The time Maria poured acid on my crotch for my inability to get her pregnant on the first try, how I cried when she lost my life savings in a game of Chinese bridge-poker, the ‘litter box’ incident, and all those restraining orders. I really need to stop being such a tattle!

I hope this letter finds you well. To know how hard you’ve struggled with your health breaks my heart. To have carpenters-Itch, mustard fever, china-syndrome, manchurian blisters, smelly blood, zebrabetes, and scary dreams all at once… I don’t know how you carry on. If it were up to me, I would put you on a starship, because you are a goddamned trooper.

My thoughts and prayers are with you; I hope the cocaine harvest is a record setter.

 

Love as always,

Crenshaw Royale

September 22, 2085

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