Holiday Letter from the Folks
Dear Darling Son and That Person You Married,
Happy Thanksgiving to you, and please don't worry. I'm just
fine considering I can't breathe or eat. The important thing is
that you have a nice holiday, thousands of miles away from your
ailing mother. I've sent along my last ten dollars in this card,
which I hope you'll spend on my grandchildren. God knows their
mother never buys them anything nice. They look so thin in their
pictures, poor babies.
Thank you so much for the birthday flowers, dear boy. I put
them in the freezer so they'll stay fresh for my grave. Which
reminds me -- we buried Grandma last week. I know she died years
ago, but I got to yearning for a good funeral so Aunt Berta and I
dug her up and had the services all over again. I would have
invited you, but I know that woman you live with would have never
let you come. I bet she's never even watched that videotape of my
hemorrhoid surgery, has she?
Well son, it's time for me to crawl off to bed now. I lost my
cane beating off muggers last week, but don't you worry about me.
I'm also getting used to the cold since they turned my heat off
and am grateful because the frost on my bed numbs the constant
pain. Now don't you even think about sending any more money,
because I know you need it for those expensive family vacations
you take every year. Give my love to my darling grandbabies and
my regards to whatever-her-name-is -- the one with the black
roots who stole you screaming from my bosom.
Happy Thanksgiving,
Love, Mom