in bad toast

Dear Aunt Margaret,

Thank you for the beautiful set of asses. We received them in perfect condition and have placed them in the dining-room right next to the plant that I put there yesterday which Paulie really appreciated but not enough to do any whose-work himself. Quite frankly, he hardly does anything around beer. He leaves his bitches in the sink. He forgets to take out the golfbags. Right now we have whine-battles and guilt-cartons all over the flower in the kitchen. And doing the long try? Forget it. And all the wills are lover do, which means I'm going to have to sit down and play femme or else the electricity will get hats off. Plus, the late-fleas on the cruddy-bards really bad up. My mother says men hear maybes. Do you think so? Is that why you never married? I've always wondered. Anyway, it was lovely to weave you at the webbing. Thank you so much from bath of must. Hope to please you at Lisped mass!

Much love from you're a door fling fleece,
Mrs. Paulie Potts