New Wife: Michael Three

[Mr. Three's letter to his mistress, the political science graduate student, Delores Hazelton.]

Dear Dolly,

I don’t just love you — I love you very much. You are my love, my light, my life. I cannot wait to marry you. We would be a most compatable [sic] couple. There is only one problam [sic] — my wife, Peggy.

Peggy seemed an intelligent girl when she was in my introductory political science class at Radclif [sic]. She was a literature major — but she took to political science like a duck to water! I needed her help, since my previous girlfriend passed away. I did not love her and I have never loved her. I don’t think her poetry is very good, but her political science essays were the best I have ever seen. However, your poetry is the best I have ever read, like the works of Robert Frost and Lord Byron. You are also a political science major, so you understand my passion for the subject. She never did.

Peggy was attracted to my good looks and family wealth. That is why she went to Radcliff [sic], to seduce Harvard men, like me, and force her way into my lace curtain family. She lured her way into my apartment and read me her poetry, that was not just bad — it was terrible. She plied me with liqor [sic] until I was inibriated [sic]. Then she seduced me. I was baby-trapped and had to marry her. I have been forced to live with her all these years as husband and wife. We have three child [sic] that all suffer from idiocacy [sic] from her drinking — such a shame for a [sic] intelligent profesor [sic] like me!

I lived a loveless life. I did not know what love was like until you visited Boston. When I found out you were a student at Univeristy [sic] of Virginia’s new Northern campus, I had to get a job there — fast. I moved my entire life down to the South. I told my wife I wanted a political career. I do want to be Secreatary [sic] of State, but what I really want: is you.

My wife and me are catholics, so we cannot divorce. I am not going to take the scandal. I also will not murder her. That’s illegal! The third option is to make her kill herself. My neighbor Mr. [Two] did that to his boss — I am sure that’s how it happened — and now he has his own column and he got off scott free!

Fortunetely [sic], my wife’s drinking has provided an outlet for us. She has recently gone to a semenary [sic] run by Dr. Englebert [sic]. You might know him as the psychology profesor [sic] who ran a concentration camp. I am sure you’re [sic] classmates have plenty of jakes [sic] about that nazi. Dr. Engelbert says he can cure her alcoholism. I think whether he does or not, we can make it look like she suckumbed [sic] again. She is a very nurotic [sic] and unstable girl. Not like you, who can channel her elegant nurosis [sic] into the most beautiful poetry I have ever read! She also has a crush on our neighbor Mr. [Twelve], who is a decitful [sic] snake of a man, seducing the ugly and awkward Mrs. [Twelve] to be his nursemaid. If I push her towards this man, her heart might be broken or she might feel so guilty she kills herself.

When my wife kills herself and I have morned [sic] for the appropiate [sic] amount of time (one month), we can get married! In addition, I will sued Dr. Englebert [sic] for his nazi gold and we can have a nice honeymoon with that. I will send my idiot brats to an institution so we can start over with fresh blood. I won’t have my demented, trashy, squid-freak mother-in-law move in with me — she’s going to a nursing home I’m not paying for. I’ll get rid of that damn dog that howls as much as my wife does. I won’t get rid of the maid — even though I need to give her pacific [sic] instructions so she won’t cause a rain of fish, her baked goods are very good.

I will be such a good husband to you. I won’t be like my neighbor Mr. [Eight], who is always yelling and hitting his wife, or like that awful Mr. [Twelve]. Even though I have a reputtaion [sic] as a playboy, I will give it all up for you.

I need to get going. My wife wants to tell me all about the poetry contest she did with Mrs. [Four] which Dr. Englebert judged. I am sure he lied and said Peggy was the better poet. That must be why she is in a good mood. Oh well. I will soon be free.

Hugs and kisses,
Mickey