P,
What an unhappy post-partum surprise I had, fully unclothed, this a.m. when I hopped upon the scale you tossed my way just yesterday. I can only assume your experience was much better as the scale I returned to you, after a quite protracted battle, does seem to bring out the best in both of us. I weighed, dearest P, a full 1.8 pounds more than yesterday at the same moment. Even if I assume the chocolate I ingested at your afternoon tea weighed a full two pounds, isn’t most of that burned off in the energy expended in conversation alone?
In any case, I must insist upon additional control measures being put in place to assure I am no longer lured by your siren song to commit acts of such questionable morality. I admit to feeling rather cheapened today by what I now see as your intentional sabotage. My only wish is that I had thought of it first. I seek revenge only by assuring you that whatever number you cheered about today is truly an underrepresention of the real you.
Although some reasonable people might insist my vigilance about such issues allows me not to focus upon far more important ones, I tell them to put their fat asses on the scale and try to think about world peace. What was your number today anyway?
Faithfully,
C.
