My Lotus, Limber Lassie
Random Memorandum™ to my beloved Mother Johns: Forgive the formal nature of this otherwise celebratory correspondence, dearest, as I'm overwhelmed with matters of enforcement and endorsement. (For the record, I endorse James Gordon for Commissioner of Gotham proper.) Where was I then? Oh yes! Happy Anniversary, darlin'! It seems like only yesterday — or possibly two or three days prior to yesterday, last week safely — that I stood 'longside the altar and watched your bloody dad glare contemptuously at me as he squired you up the churchly aisle. (Haha, I jest! If not for my side-splitting sense of insensitivity, what would keep us entertained as dark of evening falls and we're left to our own devices — remote control, cordless telephone and vibrating something-or-other.) Truth be told, Mother Dear, I am a lucky man, and you are as fetching and lotus limber as the day we met at the Brighton shore — and I don't mean "fetching" in the manner that our ball-less best friend Bloomfield might chase down a ragged chew toy. So then! On behalf of all here at the station house — with the exception of Mrs. Nitpicker, who has fallen prey to powerful gastrointestinal distressing and ghastly emissions that would fell a wilde elephantine beast — let me wish you a most cheerful of wedding anniversaries. Happy day, my sweet limber Lassie. (No relation to the collie from the golden age of television, though you could do worse!) Yours, Mine and Ours Truly, Constable Dooley®
Random Memorandum™ to my beloved Mother Johns: Forgive the formal nature of this otherwise celebratory correspondence, dearest, as I'm overwhelmed with matters of enforcement and endorsement. (For the record, I endorse James Gordon for Commissioner of Gotham proper.) Where was I then? Oh yes! Happy Anniversary, darlin'! It seems like only yesterday — or possibly two or three days prior to yesterday, last week safely — that I stood 'longside the altar and watched your bloody dad glare contemptuously at me as he squired you up the churchly aisle. (Haha, I jest! If not for my side-splitting sense of insensitivity, what would keep us entertained as dark of evening falls and we're left to our own devices — remote control, cordless telephone and vibrating something-or-other.) Truth be told, Mother Dear, I am a lucky man, and you are as fetching and lotus limber as the day we met at the Brighton shore — and I don't mean "fetching" in the manner that our ball-less best friend Bloomfield might chase down a ragged chew toy. So then! On behalf of all here at the station house — with the exception of Mrs. Nitpicker, who has fallen prey to powerful gastrointestinal distressing and ghastly emissions that would fell a wilde elephantine beast — let me wish you a most cheerful of wedding anniversaries. Happy day, my sweet limber Lassie. (No relation to the collie from the golden age of television, though you could do worse!) Yours, Mine and Ours Truly, Constable Dooley®