Dearest Charles

There was this and then this and now there’s this:

Dearest Charles,

Many apologies for my much delayed response to your last correspondence. I have been extremely busy these past few long days organizing the local Klan uprising. No one ever really thinks about how much planning, flyering, and Tang mixing goes into your average Klan konference. No one, that is, except the koordinators themselves. And, of course, the kraft-tent organizers. (Just between you and me and the rosary in your pocket, those people are out of their minds. Have you seen the things they can make out of cotton balls and macaroni? Pure evil.)

In truth, I had hoped to reveal my racism to you gradually, perhaps through some sort of elaborate interpretive dance. But, alas, because of your uncommon and altogether supernatural powers of perception, I see that I have deceived no one but myself. And maybe my grandma, but she doesn’t really “get” me anyway and always secretly hoped I would turn out to be a boy. But I showed her, didn’t I? I sure did. Didn’t I?

White P’ahr,
Lindsey

If he doesn’t propose to me after this one, I think I’ll set myself on fire.