A Letter from Candace

I thank all of you for the kind comments I received after my last maudlin post. I feel that I might continue this diary a bit longer. Just yesterday, I received an email from “Fiction Blogz,” which reminded me that, while I myself don’t write fiction, I am supporting the efforts of others. Also, I received another letter that reminded me of just how much good I do for those around me, if only they are willing to ask.

I received an email yesterday from Candace, my niece (my father’s older brother’s son’s daughter, if you must know). Although she’s seventeen, I haven’t seen her for three years. We carry on an intermittent email relationship; I listen to her puerile prattlings, and she calls me “cool.” Of course, my coolness is a function of my history of opposition to her side of the family. I always seemed to disrupt family functions, and since she’s now a teenager, her enemies’ enemies are her friends by default.

I sometimes offer my advice in those matters for which her father has no talent. For instance, I successfully convinced her not to “go down on” Danny Perelli, a sophomore and son of a construction worker. I suspected—and rightly so—that she was only dating this boy because his clothing, hairstyle, and piercings infuriated her father. When the time again came to make a similar decision, I did approve of Edward LaBlanche III, a senior and future heir to the LaBlanche Hardwoods empire. His father, Edward LaBlanche II (whose father, in turn, was named “Bill”) had gained some notoriety for establishing “The Tree House,” an organization helping child burn victims, set up primarily to take the heat, as it were, off Edward II’s ruthless clear-cutting of the Pacific Northwest Redwoods. I successfully predicted that Candace’s “investment” would shift “Eddie’s” gifting bracket up from teddy bears to rings and necklaces. This is not always the case in relationships, so I first had her do serious investigative research of “Eddie’s” previous girlfriends to establish his Gifting Portfolio (hereafter, “G.P.”). Like his father, it seems that young Mr. LaBlanche could be induced to philanthropy if apprised of certain benefits.

I also convinced Candace not to drink wine coolers with her friends, telling her that such wanton frivolity was beneath her. Instead, I had her return a list of her father’s liquor cabinet contents, suggesting she only imbibe of the finest cognacs and scotches. Some may call this, “contributing to the delinquency of a minor,” but I would instead assert that I am contributing to the refinement of a young adult. Without me, where would she learn these things? Her father certainly isn’t willing to sit her down and have “The Talk,” explaining the differences between single malt and blended whiskeys. The man is a Neanderthal. If left to her own devices, she’d not be able to tell a cognac from any old brandy. I’m sure we can all agree that this would be a travesty to the process of maturation itself.

But I digress. The letter, which I’ve reproduced below, contains some disturbing information:

Hey, uncle Moneybags!

How RU? Im so pised! Dena Rawley is suuuuuch a bitch! She took Bobby Riley to the dance when she knew I wanted him. I even got that ho Felicity Newell out of the way to get him. By the way you’re advice to tell people she had siphilis was AWESOME! Nobody will touch her now. Dena Rawley is a hole! Bobby’s GP is thru the roof too! If Dena comes too Math with a new gold bracelet on, Im gonna claw her bitch slut eyes out!

The other day I mentioned to dad how you screwed up Christmas dinner by calling aunt Venus a dirty slimy hore. HA! He said they should have put a stratejacket over your mouth too. He told me AGAIN that if you ever tried too contact me I shouldn’t say anything too you. HA! Im writing you right now!

I need to tell you that some freaky ass dude is looking for you. Yesterday I was in PE and some weirdo was hanging at the fence. I thought it was another guy like last year who got caught for jerking it to the JV field hockey team. He walked up to me after school and I thought he was going to be a perv but he said “do you know the wereabouts of Jason Stevenson?” Well first he made sure who I was but he wanted too know were you were. He had a suit on. Very proper. You would have been impressed. Anyway I thought you would want to know.

Late, Candace