Today I was going through a box of old pictures in the storeroom when I ran across a very funny letter that I wrote years and years ago that someone (my mom) kindly had saved. As you you shall soon see, it is by no means based in reality, but rather a product of a child's very active imagination.
Here it is:
"Dearest Maxamillion,
Lamb Chop. Do please remind Edgar to take the mercedes in to fix that dreadful choking sound. Oh, and please instruct Rosalind to cancel the catering service for Saturday night. Their lobster dish is horrid and Cook can do just as well. Frederick has a violin quartet performance at the Governor's mansion at 2 o'clock this afternoon. There isn't a way in the world I could tear myself away from Mimi's charity luncheon, so I'm afraid you will have to go. Frederick depends on it. Take the helicopter if you must. Just one more thing, darling--call Marcel at the travel agency. Tell him it is imperative that we get Gateshead for the 20th. Really, our soiree will not survive without the tiered gardens. Dearest--thank you ever so much. I do hate to pile on such a list on your day off, but life must go on--musn't it?
With Tenderest of Regards,
Charlotte."
Tell me, wasn't I meant to live the life of a filthy rich socialite? What happened?
Thursday, August 20, 2009
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