Dearest Husband

This is a real and actual email that I just sent to my husband, who is currently stuck in another state due to highway flooding.

[Dearest Husband]

(Okay, that wasn't in the email. He knows it's to him because it went to his email address. I just added that for the benefit of you, dear reader, so you'd know who I was writing to.)

So remember last year, when you were really disappointed because there was a whole bunch of stuff that you got for me for Christmas that had bizarrely disappeared by the time the actual day rolled around? Stuff which by now I had completely forgotten about?

Guess what I found in the closet in a giveaway bag? Things like Grinch jammies and a Beckham book, maybe?

Heehee. This is like the Christmas you give me after Christmas as a reward for surviving your relatives. :-)

Love you lots!

xoxox

So the story is, I decided to clean out the closet. ("Walk-in" currently being a gross exaggeration.) And tossed in the back from the LAST time I cleaned out the closet were three (yes, three) bags that I meant to give away to charity. Except that they got buried and I forgot.

This is kind of like the best Christmas ever! Because I get presents, but I don't even have to entertain! OR travel, even!

P.S. Now you know how often I clean out my closets. Which would be "not often."

P.P.S. If you're one of my husband's relatives? I love you and of course am not talking about you. It's called "poetic license."

P.P.P.S. Except that since it's prose, would it be "prosaic license"?

P.P.P.P.S. Now that I am thoroughly confused, I think I'm just going to go put on my Grinch jammies and read my Beckham book.