YOIKS! GREEN JELL-O
Saturday, July 17, 2010 at 12:55PM
MEMO TO: Dr. Uriah Rexford Artemis Drake
FROM: Ignatius Moore Verde
DATE: August 10, 2000
SUBJECT: Dissolution of Permission to Treat
Please consider this memo to be official notice of my desire to cease any and all treatment programs.
Whilst under your care, certain bizarre recommendations, fostered by you to cure me of my many phobias, have resulted in the creation of additional phobic episodes.
My most recent episode has been a most frightening, realistic, yet delightful, encounter with the specter of a lovely lady.
The tale is as follows:
On Tuesday last, I awoke with a start, caused by the thick aroma of citrus within my bed chamber. This cloying scent appeared to be emanating from a shimmering glow, which I observed hovering at the foot of my four-poster.
I arose, and, as my mind and vision cleared away the cobwebs of sleep, the glow transmuted itself into the form of a stunningly beautiful and, might I add, well-stacked young woman.
She was the color of Lime, from her long curly tresses to her delicate toes. She undulated before my eyes in a manner that suggested both substance and transparency. Her intoxicating perfume, most definitely of citrus origin, caused me to long for another slice of Key Lime Pie.
Her intense green glow cast its light even into the darkest corners of my vast room.
She beckoned me to approach. She reached out to tickle the stubble on my chin. A giggle passed through her lips and her entire personage trembled in a very attractive manner. I guess a better description would be that she giggled...then jiggled.
She sort of ‘gave me the eye’ and crooked a jiggling finger in a signal for me to follow her beyond my chamber door. She cast a deeply hypnotic spell, and I followed her every move.
After a thorough inspection of the most important rooms in my 19th century brownstone, she led me into the spacious bath suite. You might recall that this suite was the last part of the extensive renovation performed upon the brownstone property that I have been restoring with utmost care. You might also recall that I indicated to you, more than once, that I often felt I was not alone within the walls of this three-story townhouse.
Once inside the bathroom suite, my Emerald Lady (for that is the endearing name I have since given her) found it necessary to gently caress each fixture and appliance. She even dawdled with the handle on the loo.
She must have been especially fond of the Jacuzzi tub, for she cautiously lifted her long, flowing skirt and demurely stepped into its confines. When she settled herself comfortably into its depths, she turned her head upon her shoulder, flashed me a seductive smile, and extended her arms towards me in a most brazen display of carnal intent.
In my pounding desire to see my Emerald Lady more clearly, I hit the massive lighting control panel and flooded the suite with blinding wattage. It took just mere seconds to blink and adjust my eyes. But, alas, in just that tiny sliver of time, I found that she had vanished.
With a heavy heart, I slapped the switches of the panel. The suite plunged into the deepest darkness, and the deepest sadness I have ever encountered.
I dragged myself towards the kitchen upon the strength provided by my ravenous desire for Key Lime Pie.
There was no longer the greenish glow of the Emerald Lady to light my way. I was forced to engage every light switch. The journey was torture, but my quest for the procurement of the pie drove me far beyond human endurance.
I set the pie upon the table and devoured it with relish. My mind fought to accept the reality of the night’s encounter. Thus, I realized that I could not return to restful sleep unless I returned to my lady’s vanishing point.
I re-entered the bath suite and embraced the darkness. I willed the Emerald Lady to return. She did not.
I, once again, flooded the suite with mega-wattage and walked to the Jacuzzi. To my utter delight, I found it brimming with green Jell-O. My Emerald Lady was real! My Emerald Lady had left me a sign of her existence.
I am not crazy. I am more sane than you can ever hope to be.
You, sir, are a QUACK! U. R. A. Drake, indeed!
Please rid your files of my records.
My Emerald Lady and I will rendezvous as often as she permits. And if, as I suspect, my phobic episodes have been caused by food allergies; then so be it.
I will pick and choose and diagnose myself, but my refrigerator will necessarily contain a never ending supply of Key Lime Pie. And that is why my bathtub is full of green Jell-O.
________________
I. M. Verde, Esq.
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