Dear Sally

Dear Sally,

It would seem I have a skill. As my tube of toothpaste comes to the end of the bristles on my toothbrush, the mouth of the tube flicks toward me causing fluoride paste to be slung straight into my eye. This happens with surprising regularity. This phenomenon gives rise to a situation in which, after the initial attack, I become shocked and confused. My feet begin a mutinous dance which in turn causes my arms to flail as if I were a drunken goose. My grasp on the toothbrush weakens, the bristles turn to the persuasion of gravity and what paste was actually on the brush slips off toward its end on the dirty linoleum.

Though my story seems sad, even pitiful, there is a glimmer of hope within. Observe, the awesome powers of self-awareness it must take to be one’s own saboteur! You see, my dear consort, I have been blessed with conclusive evidence that I, Phoebus Archibald IV, is none other than a full-fledged psychic. While this news alone is enough to strain a wife to tears and hair pulling – I do have more.

Due to my considerable talent, I became compelled to contact precincts all over the state of New York. Naturally, the gross majority of precincts lie in New York City and one of those fine establishments has agreed to take me on as the city’s first Psychic Investigator. I plan to leave immediately and to take all of our combined savings so I might effectively establish myself when welcomed into the city. Though I am sure you are red with admonishment and sick with worry, I attempt to leave you, my dear Sally, with love and the understanding that my gift is one that must be shared with the world and certainly, used to defend our proud nation from ne’er-do-wells.

All of my love,

Phoebus Archibald IV


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