Dear Taylor,
Any woman could realistically become anyone’s mother. Fill out the adoption papers and wham! There we go. That’s my theory and I’m sticking to it.
I know so little about you, Taylor, or Mom-to-be-if-you-adopt me. Sure, one could dig through your Wikipedia page, peruse your website, but is that really getting to know you? I think not.
That’s why I’d like to suggest we meet up for several meals. Don’t worry. I could treat you on occasion. I’ve stuffed a couple of hundred dollars in the wall behind a beat-up Van Gogh poster. Lots of robbers and thieves roaming the streets. They haven’t gotten to me yet.
You a fan of grilled burgers and onions? There’s an old diner beneath my place. We might have to scrub the dishes after we eat. The old dishwasher, Baxter, died suddenly. He was 83. Always losing his dentures in the giant metal vat of week-old clam chowder.
I’ll miss the old lunatic. We used to play strip poker when he’d get off work. Yeah, just me and him. Once the boxers went off, we’d almost immediately part ways until the very next day.
It could be fun. You, me, and Travis (er, Dad-to-be-if-you-both-adopt-me), of course. Bring him. You recently got married to him and think of our meeting as an extended honeymoon. It may not be as fancy as your first round.
The nearest inn or lodging is thirty miles outside town. You and Travis could stay with me. I got this gorgeously comfortable inflatable mattress. Rocky, my lizard, loves to pee on it, but worry not, I always clean it up before a guest arrives. It’s funny to think of a lizard peeing. I had no idea that was possible until I got Rocky.
If it’s alright, maybe I could get an iguana? He or she can wander around our house. Let him or her roam through the pantry and the floorboards to kill any unwanted visitors. I’m speaking of rats and mice. Not sure if you two have that problem, but I know for me, I’ve been visited way too many times by an unwanted visitor. Heard one last night. Barely slept a wink. That’s what propelled me to write you.
Anyhow, Taylor Mom-to-be-if-you-and-Travis-adopt-me, I have to run. Like literally run. There’s a pack of wolves charging in my direction. They’re growling and oh God, this is not looking good.
Bye for now!
Herbert Yamaguchi III