Dear Mister Ed

I must have grew some sea legs whilst we was in Loss Vayguss. The hole way home to Brutish Columbya, I did’nt upchuck in the saltchuck once.

In fact the trip was rite some grand all together. Even Maisy was on her best behavyer once Eva give ‘er a talkin’ to about respecktin’ a fellers boundrys or some such.

Now lest you think I’m fixin’ to run off to sea, I’d best disswayd you of that noshun once and fer all.

Y’see The Bride has desided to sell off her boat, lock, stalk and tupperwear. Ain’t that she needs the money, but outta her new-found intrest in savin’ the planet.

I cant say fer sure when it hit ‘er, but come dinner time the second nite out, she gets all serryous and says its time to mend her ways.

“Four folks on a 134-foot yott with a crew of six, and Lord knows how much deesul fumes we’re pumpin’ into the wind,” she says. “That cant be rite. Think of the carbon foot print.”

I looked evrywheres, but cud’nt see no foot prints. Truth is, things was so spotless I finely figgered out what the word ship-shaped means.

Then Eva says shes speakin’ mettaforical, but if folks like her don’t mend there ways, how can they expeckt any one else to fix things?

“If we wait fer guvamints to do it” she says “hells gonna freeze over solid, and evrythink else is gonna melt.”

I reckon she must of been broodin’ on this fer some time, ’cause next I know she’s makin’ me an offer she aint about to let me refuse.

“Rodney” she says “You lost yer shirt in Vayguss, and that means all you got comin’ in is the OGP. So why don’t you come work fer me?”

The way she put it is, with Bruce and Emma-Lee in the hoose-gow fer growin’ that funny stuff, shes in need of some one to take care of things about the house and her big new rock garden.

“I got some plans on how to use what time I got left to make a diffrence in the world” she says “With all them years farmin’ in PEI, yer exacktly what I need to make it happen.”

By now I’m thinkin’ she must of slipped a cog or two, or maybe hit her head in the head havin’ a shower. But she was rite pursistent.

“I want you think on it fer a cuppla days, but you otta know by now I ain’t the sort that takes No fer an answer.”

Way I see it, Darrol, the old gals got me on the horns of a dial-Emma. On the one hand I ain’t keen to give up my Youcon cittizenship or my place on Anny Lake Road.

On the other hand her plan to save the world jest mite get me a peace of the Noble Prize.

Looks like I got some hevvy ponderin’ to do. Wish me luck.

Yer pal,

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