My Dearest Huckleberry,
I’m writing to you from somewhere in Italy. Rome, I think. My voyage overseas has carried on a bit longer than I first expected, and this corset is killing me, I can’t wait to kick off my shoes and float barefoot down the river with you. There are some here, but no one seems to take much interest in the finer points of the waterways. No fishing, no rafting, no swimming. It’s a bore.
Instead they spend a large amount of time visiting one another, traveling about, and talking in great detail about subjects which bore me to no end. As of late there has been some drama, but let me tell you, it’s nothing as exciting as finding a dead cat.
And although nearly everyone here is American you would never know it to listen to them. They’re always dropping la-de-dahs into conversations and although they had to get here somehow it doesn’t seem as if any of them has ever taken a boat ride longer than the journey over the channel.
Most of them are pretty stiff grown-ups. There is one girl, Pansy, and I think she could really benefit from a little vacation to your neck of the woods. Instead she’s forced to spend a lot of time hanging out in what seems like and extreme version of Sunday School.
I’m spending my last days in Europe dreaming of the lazy time we spent with Tom’s audiobook over Christmas Break. It was wonderful to have some adventures with you two, although it would have been nice if you could have helped me out of that uncomfotable situation when my seven year old asked, “Are the Indians bad?” I’m sure as I fumbled around with that awkward answer about Injun Joe being a bad man, but not being a true representation of Native Americans you were in the background chuckling away, knowing good and well that the young boy would soon follow up with a quizical tilt of the head and, “Mom, I mean the baseball team. Did Indians lose a lot last season?”
But I forgive you, and in fact I’m even going to come see you again soon. We’re going to cast aside our riches, grown-up behaviors, and French phrases to hop on a raft with you. Build us a sturdy one, Huck, we hope to bring along some friends.
P.S. Can you read? Maybe I should have asked that at the beginning of this letter.