40b1ce81e27faee7f7dcd22da99b93e1

She was a woman on a mission now: to retrieve as many letters as she could before the whole street got a collective heart attack and branded her with a scarlet letter!

As she hurried home, the first person she saw was Marcie Trapper. Her next-door neighbor was standing next to the mailbox, reading a letter, her cheeks flushed and her face contorted into a sort of crazy grimace. Before Marge could duck out of sight, Marcie looked up, and the two women’s eyes locked.

And as a grin slowly crept up Marcie’s face, Marge felt her legs go a little wobbly. She tried to remember what Tex had written in those letters of his, but it was such a long time ago—more than twenty-five years—that she simply couldn’t. If Mrs. Samson’s letter was anything to go by, though, it was pretty hot stuff!

“Now why is Tex sending me a letter postmarked twenty-seven years ago?” asked Marcie. “And full of some pretty sexy stuff? Is he having a MeToo moment?”

“No, he is not. If you look closely, you’ll see that the letter is actually not addressed to you, Marcie,” said Marge, trying to keep her cool, which under the circumstances was a tough proposition. “That letter was addressed to me, and was accidentally posted in your mailbox this morning.”

Marcie frowned at the letter.“Oh, I see,” she said with a touch of disappointment. “Marcie or Marge. It’s almost the same thing.”

“So can I have it back, please?” asked Marge, holding out her hand.

“Just a moment,” said Marcie, yanking the letter out of her reach. “When Tex writes, ‘I want to put my hot hands on your juicy, ripe—’”

“Yes, yes, yes!” said Marge. “I know what he wrote.” Even though she didn’t.

“He should have been a writer,” said Marcie. “He’s got the talent, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” said Marge. “Now can I have my letter back, please?”

Reluctantly, Marcie placed the letter in her hand.“But why did he post it in my mailbox, is what I would like to know. And I’m sure Ted would like to know, too.”

“Tex didn’t post it.”

“Oh, so you did?” asked Marcie, clutching a hand to her chest to gather her dress around herself, just in case Marge tried any funny business.

“No! Of course not!”

Marcie seemed hurt by this comment.“Nothing is impossible, you know. I mean, we have been neighbors for a long time, and I like to consider you a friend. And sometimes, between friends… feelings will develop. Feelings that are…” But when Marge just stared at her, she quickly collected herself. “Forget what I said.”

“Tex is clearing out the attic,” Marge said.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Marge,” said Marcie, a little snippy.

“He must have accidentally put a box of these old letters outside, where a troop of girl scouts found it, and started distributing them along the street.”

“A troop of girl scouts did drop by earlier,” said Marcie, nodding. “I bought cookies from them. Very expensive they were, too. And not very tasty either.” Then she brightened. “Oh, I see what must have happened. They probably thought Bambi Wiggins accidentally dropped these while doing her rounds, and decided to give her a helping hand by putting them in their designated mailboxes.”

“Exactly,” said Marge, glad to have finally gotten the message across.

“Ted never wrote letters like that to me,” said Marcie, and there was a touch of disappointment in her voice. “You’re a lucky lady, Marge Poole.”

“I know,” said Marge. Though truth be told, she didn’t feel very lucky, knowing that perhaps a dozen more of her neighbors were reading her private letters at that exact moment, and probably wondering whether to file a MeToo complaint against Tex!

[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]

Hampton Cove’s Christian Grey wannabe, meanwhile, was at work in his office, patiently listening to Ida Baumgartner, who was claiming against better advice that the red bump on her arm was skin cancer, and demanding that Tex launch a full investigation into the suspicious bump before it was too late!

And as Tex took a closer look at the offending bump, which was clearly a simple mole, and had no ambition, nor had it ever had the ambition, to be anything other than a simple mole, suddenly Ida took a letter out of her purse and started reading in a loud declamatory voice,“I want you. I’ve never wanted a woman more than I want you. I think about you day and night, and my dreams are even hotter than my thoughts. Oh, to feel your lips on my lips. To feel your burning body against mine! I count the days until we meet again… Marge!”

Tex, who’d been listening with mild interest, jerked up at the mention of his wife’s name. In fact he jerked so hard he felt a sudden twinge in his back and exclaimed, “Ouch!”

“Ouch, indeed!” Ida snapped. The older lady sat eyeing him with a disapproving eye, clutching her purse in her lap. “What’s the meaning of delivering a letter of such clearlypornographic nature in my mailbox, Doctor Poole?”

“But, but, but…” Tex stuttered.