Ahoy Sammich!
Wie geht's, mein Sohn? Captured a real doozy of a haul today. The captain of the ship admitted to me that he be stricken with fear when he spotted the ol' Pearlmutter Jolly Roger o'er the horizon! Got meself a whole mess o' gold dubloons-- but, on the way home, I met a sobbin' mermaid that reminded me of your pretty mum. Her castle of coral had been wrecked in a nasty storm from up north and she needed help. This ol' sailor thought of how your mum would feel without a home like that, and couldn't refuse to help the lass out with some o' the treasure. But worry not, Sammich my boy! I saved enough for that field trip you be yammering about to the nautical museum, and the new Nerf water gun you be hoping for, and I be sending the money for that shortly. Send my best to the missus. This next part of the letter is for her--love ya, lad. --Pop
Hullo to the loveliest Frau on land or sea. Stop.
Don't you think those old telegrams are so romantic? Stop.
Such suspense after each line, like your heart skipping beats, right me lassie? Stop.
People should still write like this. Stop.
Or you could send letters in a bottle! But better yet, leave the ale in the ol' bottle and write the message outside on the glass in one of those Sharpie markers! I think I'm onto somethin' there. My love to you and the lad. Ich liebe dich.
--Remmy
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Dear Rembrandt,
Please, stop playing pretend and come home. Samuel deserves more than just letters and visits on holidays and birthdays. You could come more if only you would just give up this silly charade and get a respectable job. Our son needs you, and so do I. So come home. Grow up, and come home.
Your loving wife,
Desirée
