Dearest P,
As I've just returned from the Thanksgiving holiday, and spent time with more family than any one woman deserves, I can assure you I understand the meaning of depletion. The remedy, it seems to me, is surely not more of it. That is, if the world offers so little, it is really our duty to secret away what we know to be our entitled birthright–even if my own parentage suggests otherwise. I've decided, quite naturally, to spend all remaining savings on my wardrobe. If, as so many economists suggest, the worst is yet to come, don't I have the right to feel some comfort in my pitiful existence? Unlike hubby or any of my cherubs, who care not a wit about their attire, shouldn't I take the opportunity to help all of us through this period by providing some small light in their darkness by dressing well? I know every mother isn't willing to make these kinds of sacrificies but I stand ready to lead those willing to follow. And, who knows, perhaps, like gold, good wardrobe choices will no longer be so undervalued. So, don't hesitate, dear P. Buy that black dress (with the right label of course) and you too may experience untold riches. And, if all else fails, we may get more for it at that consignment shop on MacArthur Blvd. than for all of our stocks combined.
