Dear Sydney,
Not sure what to call you. Sydney? Syd? Mom-to-be-for-me?
You probably have no idea who I am. Well, I know very little about you. When you adopt me, and hopefully that will be the case, we can learn more about one another.
Let me tell you something about me. One day, I met this old woman selling fruit. The problem was, she didn’t have much of a fruit stand. It looked more like a podium for some gifted speaker. I felt bad for her, so I pulled some raw materials together: some metal, some wood, some wheels, some old screws, and made this crazy-looking contraption for her.
I wheeled it down the road. There she was, bent over, picking up bananas and peaches for the umpteenth time that day. I tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Ma’am, I made something for you.”
She slowly turned around and then shrieked. Sure, I got buck teeth and this hideous mole on my cheek, but I didn’t think I was that ugly. She then pointed at Rocky, my lizard, perched on my shoulder.
“What is that?” she hissed.
“Don’t worry about him,” I said, then stepped out of the way for this gangly-looking portable fruit stand. The old woman shrieked again. She then ran as fast as an eighty-something-year-old woman could run.
“No, but look,” I hollered as she ran away, while scooping up handfuls of fruit to put on the new portable cart.
“Mario,” the woman yelled. “I’m being assaulted.”
Whoever Mario was, I didn’t want to find out, so I dashed the other way, leaving the gangly-looking portable fruit cart. I ran for several miles, only stopping for a quick few breaths.
Now, I’m hiding under a bridge. Me, Rocky, and my old, rusty laptop. Sitting here thinking about you being my mom. I’ll get my mole removed so we can happily dine together. We can boil some peaches and call it breakfast.
What do you say?
Love,
Herbert Yamaguchi III