I Want a Playpen

Dear John,

 

Nothing and nobody tried to kill me today. I could get used to this.

 

It feels like I just had three days. I got up and did housework until noon, then worked from 1:00 to 5:00, then bought eggs on the way home, mowed and trimmed, took a shower, and Jim and Irene got here. It feels like three separate days. But, as I said before, at no point of the day was my life in danger. Jen will be happy.

 

You know she had banned me from digging out of fear that I'll plant myself in my cemetery spot beside you. Now she had extended that prohibition to include any activity that may lead others to have to dig on my behalf. She threatened to buy a playpen and keep me in it for my protection.

 

That is one of those threats that feels more like a promise. After all the unwelcome excitement of the last couple of months, life in a playpen has a certain appeal. I would, however, want a playpen that comes with Wi-Fi, satellite television, and an adequate yarn stash. And, since that description sounds like my house, I suppose I'm okay as I am. But the playpen is tempting.

 

Your not-quite-sane wife,

Joan.