The day hell froze over

Dear Dad,

You know, who decided letters have to be addressed ‘dear, whoever’? It’s stupid really, I mean you use it for people who aren’t even ‘dear’, and it always makes me think of little old ladies or stuffy bankers. I’m not even sure why you’d put someone’s name up top, isn’t that what the envelope’s for to make sure it gets to the right person? And then there’s the fact I don’t even know what to call you anymore. Anymore is actually a lie, I’ve never known what to call you. It legit took me all morning. Dad. Mickey. Father. Mr. Downey. Obviously, I settled on Dad. So now you’re either brushing snow off your Mai-Tai, because I actually wrote back to you, or have had a coronary from shock, so Mom, since you’re now reading this, I miss you and have almost forgiven you for leaving with aforementioned dead criminal.

Reference your latest post card, no, I haven’t, and sometimes, but not lately.

Reference the reason for this letter, your spies may have informed you that Ginny is expecting a baby, but I thought I’d write to break the news to you anyway in the hopes that  ‘dear, Dad’ will bribe you into arranging a visit.

Before you scream entrapment, DAD, I’m talking about just mom coming for a visit, and I have already had assurances from my supervisor that no one is particularly concerned about the aiding and abetting charges she currently faces if she were to just happen to show up in Omaha. Although, if ever there was a Most Wanted who could get away with it, it would be you. That was in no way to be construed as endorsement for any current or future illegal activity. Mom, I can’t make any promises on the feds, but I imagine your future daughter-in-law will keep the interrogation to a minimum.

Did I mention I asked her to marry me? I guess hell did freeze over, because she said yes.

June 18th Lauritzen Gardens



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