(nye-con)

Dear Suspicious xxx, 

I am in receipt of your letter dated xxx, xx, xxxx in which you explain briefly, but eloquently, the reasons behind your recent behavior. You became "...suspicious of the whole transaction..." because xxxx, not me, called you and made the inquiries. In your mind, "...things just didn't seem to be adding up...," especially because we arrived early in xxxxxxxx at the xxxx xxx cafe. Your call to me earlier that afternoon was an effort, you say, to save me a trip to xxxxxxxx and to see the xxxxxx that you offered for sale. You could not find the xxx or xxxxxxx to go with the xxxxxx, but it was my impression that you were ready to execute the transaction as you had posted the object as available and agreed to meet in xxxxxxxx at the xxxx xxxx cafe. I wondered then, and still do now, if xxxxxxx foreign accent caused your suspicion and that you were (and continue to be) ashamed to admit this to me, to yourself, and particularly not to xxxxxx (who, I add, gave you the benefit of all doubt and insisted we stay and wait, believing that you would show up). I knew, Suspicious xxx, that you would not and I suspected that I would not hear from you ever again. To my surprise, you have replied. Thank you for your response. I wish for you all the xxxx of life in the years ahead. 

With xxxx regards,
xxxxxxx

P.S. I have borrowed a xxxxx (same model as the one you posted for purchase) and I am taking much xxxxxxxx in learning how to use it.

Explain

Dirty laundry into basket. Basket goes downstairs. Dirty laundry out of basket. Dirty laundry into washing machine. Clean laundry into dryer. Hang some pieces on wooden drying rack. All clean clothes out of dryer, off of rack, and back into basket. Basket goes upstairs. Basket sits. Basket sits. Sits basket. Days pass. Pass days. Clean clothes stay in basket. Wear different clean clothes. Days pass. Favorite underwear in basket of clean clothes. Empty basket of clean clothes onto bed. Sift. Sift. Favorite found. Move clean clothes off bed and into basket. Time to sleep. Wake to time. Favorite socks in basket of clean clothes. Empty basket of clean clothes onto bed. Think twice about putting them back into basket. Too many new dirty clothes piled on closet floor now. Need empty basket. Fold clean clothes into pile and move from bed to wicker night stand. Wobble. Wobble. Straighten. Done wobble. Fill basket with new dirty clothes and take downstairs to washer, dryer, and rack. Upstairs remove old clean clothes from wicker stand and return to places of original displacement. Downstairs, place new clean clothes in basket. Fold not. Repeat.

Saccharine

C₂H₆0_2. Ethylene glycol. A sugar related to C₂H₄0₂, the smallest known molecular sweetie called glycolaldehyde, a life-building essential found in a gas cloud in the Milky Way. No wonder my head hurts from anti-freeze (glycol) leaking into the passenger cabin of my beater car: the dust in my mind expands as a drive. This time to Austin, Minnesota, near the Iowa border. Ninety minutes into the journey (fifteen miles from destination) I realize I don't want what waits for me there. I stop in a place named for blossoming open fields and call the owner. I tell him my decision, eat my lunch (in the sugar cabin), and make a u-turn. Sweet-plugged ears or not, I hear scraping on the pavement. Park again and walk around. The muffler hangs off the rear. I cruise to a business selling repaired salvaged autos across from a grain elevator. "Can you fix this," I ask. Late Friday afternoon, the mechanic left early, still a body man remains. I follow him around back where he reaches under a truck (that probably hit a tree) and gathers hanger bushings (huh?). "Hard to get off old ones," he says. The scavenge works. He discusses a price for the job with the shop manager who hand-writes an invoice. I note the list of vehicles for sale posted on the wall. "An old dry erase board," he says, "Nothing fancy in the small town we live in." Not a one suits me. I tell them my story. "You drove all the way down just to turn around?" Well, um, no, not really, but I am under the influence of life building compounds. And I like candy. A vending machine near the shop's door has a selection of three. It accepts quarters. I have dimes.

Trespass

Seats belts fastened. Tray tables and chairs in their up-right and locked positions. Electronic devices turned off. Mouths shut and not uttering one more word. No, she forgets that last sentence. The oversight marks doom for someone like me who has a history of excessive talking, especially about favorite subjects. (Like books: The Razor's Edge is not on my list, but The Wind-up Bird Chronicle was remarkable. Or, brandy: give your hosts a French one from Armagnac. Expensive, but worth it.) Multiple teachers told my parents that "your daughter is a delight to have in class, if only she could shut up," as they handed them report cards with A's in reading and writing. The flight attendant walks down the isle and stops at 12C. For a moment I spy a yardstick behind her back, but that's because she resembles my kindergarten teacher. Wielding a wooden rod, Mrs. Henderson's wrist could flip from zero to sixty in less than three seconds, bopping me on the head more than once a day. My current instructor says "no one around you could hear the safety information." I want to act self-righteous and explain myself. I say loudly to the people around me that I will step aside and exit last if there's an emergency. They express sympathy for me and my never-to-be-seen-again conversation conspirator sitting across the isle in 12D. But I refuse this support and acknowledge our authority. "It's good to be reminded even if we've heard it before," I say. "Thank you dear," she replies. Later she gives me extra pretzels and a book recommendation.