Dear Scott

Hey Babe,

Just thought I'd let you know that you left a dirty dish amongst my clean ones again; on the counter, next to the bottles, soiling the sterilized dishes that are your children's. You should also be aware that a drop of blood from your unfortunate nose bleed is dried on my bathroom floor. Everytime I pee it stares at me and mocks me and I think...I need to clean that...and then a scream from the other room causes me to jump up without wiping, and my stumbling, struggling, cursing frame flies out the door and the droplet of blood is forgotten again until my next ill fated bathroom attempt.

A few more things my dead...deaR...sorry...Freudian slip?...the laundry basket, filled with our folded clothes, too heavy for me to lift up the flight of stairs to our bedroom, has now been settled in front of our door for well over a week. Maybe tomorrow you could lend those beautifully defined, weight lifter, arms to this job of jobs only you can complete? And one more small household discrepancy is bothering me... today I found boxes on our porch...empty, large...and aching to be seen by our lovely, fine happy, Strata Council. Perhaps only then they will be collapsed and recycled as they were meant to be; but I have hope, a stubborn, wondrous hope... that before we have to pay out the nose... you will grab a blue bag from our cupboard and destroy the Councils chance to stick it to a cop...

I know my requests are simple, and thus easily dismissed; you deal with so much on your job and are constantly measuring, calculating, and photographing the cruel, twisted humour of death, but maybe...just maybe...you could muster some of that cold, hard, steely cop determination and defeat the eye roll of your wife...

Oh...and we need more diaper cream. Thanks.