Don’t you miss the days when your friends were as close as a boy and his blackberry? Those long summer days when you sought out your squishy compadres for their bulbous, inky selves. I sure do. Seeing Balthazar these days really makes me reminescent.
…
What the $@#%!?! Why does this kid befriend a blackberry? There was the discovery of something growing on the “hurt-you” bush. We talked about the blackberry for a while and finally were able to get him to try one. He liked it very much, then made one his friend. So much so that he needed to nap with his friend, Blackberry. He gets this from his mother I tell you.
Don’t worry about this behavior. It’s perfectly natural. I take naps with berries all of the time. Of course I wait until they have fermented and have been placed into bottles with nifty labels of trains or large birds…
Don’t be too hasty when ascribing the genetics of weirdness. I am your mother. I seem to remember a small boy who would be king—of snails. And remember the time you entered the house with something in your hand? I made you show me, which you did reluctantly as you were pretty sure your new friends might not be quite welcome. About a thousand roly-polies boiled out of your hand and into the carpet. There are other episodes I could recall. . . . .
Olaf, I was your Webelos den leader when you were 10. The weirdness definitely is attributable to your side of the family. Remember eating the raw egg? Not knowing your wife I will Still defend her from this calumny.
Miss you and your mom (another hint of weirdness maybe?).
Mr. Andy
Debby sends her love