Dear Dr. Jones

Dear Dr. Jones,

I hope you are well

I heard about the thing

With the Nazis

They suck, right?

Anyway

I’m writing to you

Because I was wondering

If I could have more time

To finish my paper

On the dig site scandal

Of 1894

I know you’re probably getting this letter

While riding on the back of a truck

Being pursued by armed thugs

But I just need you to understand

That I am also going through

Quite a bit in my life right now

I recently had to leave Yale

Unexpectedly

Because Grandpapa decided

To let go

Of his long-term maid

Who was something like an aunt

To all of us

Aunt...Maid...Person was very near and dear to us

And as Father always liked to remark

Nobody could shine a floor like her

The family had to have

An emergency meeting

To decide whether we needed to hire

One or two maids to replace her

Since they don’t make maids

Like that anymore

Heaven forbid you ask anyone

To work more than seventy hours a week

Suddenly they’re making demands

Like livable wages

And access to doctors

For that spot on their back

That’s probably just dirt

Since, you know, servants aren’t known

For their cleanliness

So we thought about hiring two maids

But that would eat into the inheritance

And while none of us like talking about money

It seemed a waste to use Grandpapa’s sizable fortune

On cleaning floors

Dr. Jones, I know right now

You’re probably stealing an artifact

From an ancient temple

Running like the dickens

From a giant orb

That’s an inch away

From crushing your bones to dust

But you have to understand how trying

The past week has been for me

Setting aside the melodrama with the maid

My tennis coach has decided

That now is a good time

To give up coaching and turn pro

Personally, I don’t care

I loathe tennis

And I look positively ghoulish

In white shorts

But now I have nothing to do

Tuesdays at eleven

And I hate having my week disrupted

Now I have to find a new hobby

Otherwise I’ll just be sitting around

Every Tuesday afternoon

With nothing to do other than schoolwork

And while I would love nothing more

Than to spend an hour of my time

Writing one of your little papers

Tuesday mornings are for recreation

The same way Thursday afternoons

Are for extravagant naps

Rather than do the paper I owe you

I had to spend hours of my time

Choosing between water polo

And acquiring stolen art

I ended up moving my extravagant nap

To Tuesday and found another tennis coach for Thursday

But I refuse to wear white shorts

But this coach doesn’t care

Because she’s blind

So she has no idea what I’m wearing

And truthfully I don’t even bother playing

I just throw the balls up and down the court

Until the time runs out

Dr. Jones, I know you didn’t return
My last few letters

Requesting extensions on my paper

Probably because you’re trapped in a sewer

With your father

Covered in rats

And facing down death

But I am riddled with stress

Please let me know

At your earliest convenience

Whether I can have a few additional weeks

To finish the paper

And if there’s any opportunity for extra credit

I’d love to take you up on that

Best wishes on your various adventures

Now, if you’ll excuse me

I need to get to my tennis lesson

It’s very important to stay

On top of your commitments

But I’m sure

You already know that