Dear Myrtle,

I must apologize in advance for my foul mood today. My hairdresser has made a grave miscalculation, resulting in my becoming a brunette quite against my will. He has told me to be patient for a few days to see if the color would “lighten up a bit” but I am unhappy to live life in such a state.
The worst of this is that I’ll be forced to endure another round of the hairdresser’s stories about his Weimaraner.  Oh, and I’m sure you’ll ask… YES, I tipped him. I was afraid he wouldn’t fix it if I stiffed him.

My granddaughter suggested I try to dye the hair myself. Can you picture this? I would look like a chipmunk trying to play tennis.

Speaking of children’s television programming, I had to give Mr. Carmichael a dressing down the other day. He was here to prune the roses and clip the grass. I gave him a glass of ice water and he noticed that little Alyssa and Micah were watching, “Go, Diego! Go!” He had the incredibly poor taste to say, “Swim, Diego! Swim!” in front of the children. Appalling. I believe he has gotten bitter about competition in the lawn maintenance sector here in Boca.

I am considering dismissing Mr. Carmichael as it is. I gave him a key when we last vacationed in Puerto Rico so that he might tend the orchids. When I returned, I found that my VCR tape machine was reprogrammed, my settee had been moved and my unmentionables drawer was ajar. I shudder to think what those three facts combined might imply.

Yes, I did try to read that DaVinci book you sent me, but I’m afraid I had to stop reading after a few chapters. I am sure the story is amusing, but I found the writing to be sub-par at best. It seems that if one tells a fittingly salacious story, command of the English language is not required. Then again, I believe your former students would be amused to know that I found Pirate Love on the High Seas under your bathroom sink the last time I visited your home. When searching for a hand towel, I don’t expect to find myself face-to-bosom with pornography.

I must run along now, Myrtle. I’m off to the hair dresser, then I must get the Skylark serviced at the garage. I am enclosing a photograph of my newly painted house. Sears had a paint sale and I'm quite pleased with the results. Please tell me what you think of the color.

Sincerely,

Maude

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Dear Maude,

I received your letter as I was about to journey up to St. Louis for the baseball All Star Game.  I will be staying with Lucy and I believe you have her number.  I’m certain it’s one that I wrote out in the back of that Joel O’Steen 18-month calendar I gave you for Christmas.

I am very sorry to hear about your misfortune at the hairdresser.  I do not know why you continue going to that same man when he’s proven time and time again that he has no understanding of what a mature woman like yourself really needs, but if you’re willing to risk your entire appearance on the chance of rubbing your elbow against his backside, so be it.  He is quite a nice looking young man.  I also believe you could do that dye job at home.  The CVS has an entire row of colors.  You certainly couldn’t do any worse and nothing ruins the day more than waking up to a weimaraner brown hair-do.

Speaking of nice looking men, I am going to have to agree with your Mr. Carmichael.  Now he should not be saying things like that in front of the children, but the man has a point.  I’m here to tell you that if immigration was supposed to work this way the damn Statue of Liberty would be in Key West or Galveston Bay.

As for his rattling about in your things, I can only say that people in glass houses ought not to throw stones.  No one is more adept to rifling through someone’s things than you, old girl.  Of course, you have the good sense to clean up behind yourself.  If only poor Rupert knew that you had his life cataloged like a science experiment.  Ha!

Also, speaking of Puerto Rico, we need to book another trip down there.  I believe I am on the verge of losing an implant and I refuse to pay the ridiculous fees here in the states.  I also checked into that face lift/spa week in India and I think it something we should seriously consider. 

I do not have the time right now to explain again the subtleties of the DaVinci book.  I have never understood your inability to be entertained by trivial scandal in literature and yet thoroughly entertained by real-life scandal.  I suppose I’ve always had the better imagination though.  I can, in fact, act out entire scenes from Pirate Love on The High Seas, which is apparently too sub-par for your liking as well.  How well I know that only the cream rises to the top of your Ivory Tower – which is now obviously, very yellow.

GOOD HEAVENS, MAUDE! Your bungalow is transformed.  I told you countless times that Tangerine Dream and Good Day Sunshine were musical acts or hippie songs or some such thing from the past and not a message from your sixth sense of style.  I do however, very much like the blue door.  Now that is avante garde.

Fondly,

Myrtle