Parting Glances: E-mails sent (1/02/08)

JAN: As you have on several recent occasions expressed a curious, rather untoward interest in my weight, I went out and purchased a double-A battery operated, glass-step-on scale to weigh myself, hoping to put your troubled mind (and mine) to rest on a touchy subject.
As of 7:45 a.m., on this second day of January, my scale gives me a socks-only reading (much, much higher than I believed) of 196. I had hoped it was 180. For the past several months I've been feeling (exhibiting, I like to think) macho behavior that's remarkably in accord with a much svelter image. (You'll at least grant me that mesomorphic illusion.)
I hope this sharing does much to end the duress the aforementioned conjecture on your part has engendered. With this cogent data out of the way there's no reason why 2008 shouldn't be a most wonderful year for everybody: those underweight, those over, and those who are petulantly undecided. But please: no speculation about my posture or sex life. Both seem regrettably to be slumping southward these days.
SUSAN: Kind thanks for inviting me to your warm, cozy, exuberantly decorated home for Christmas. It was fun being a cast extra with you, Jan, her sister Nancy, Nancy's reluctantly loquacious companion of many years, Jim, his three grandkids, Tucker, Sam, and Haley. (Watching them open presents brought back vivid memories of expensive gift wrappings gleefully torn asunder by myself many Christmas moons ago. PS: kind thanks for The Ann Coulter Murder Mystery).
This time around I did remember to take a Benadryl, so — if my one-eggnog-too-many memory serves me — I sneezed only ten times and scratched (discretely, I might add) not more than eight uninterrupted minutes.
Yes, it was thoughtful of Nancy to bring her dogs, Kirby and Sarah. They played competitively with your brood, Yogi, Teddy, Cooper (who, if truth be known, adores me — for whatever reason of mistaken gender ID or misinterpreted scent on his part). Question. Where were your cats? Had they no Christmas spirit?
I don't mean to quibble, Suze, but next time please keep in mind that I've ground zero interest in football. Ten hours of game time (with all five dogs barking to be let out at half times) is just too much for any reasonably intelligent gay man, especially one of my advanced age. (After you've seen one fanny whacked and checked out all the wide-end receivers, well, what's the point?) I know it's a lesbian thing, but, fair's fair. (The Nutcracker was on CBC.) Oh, another thing. May I have your lo-cal recipe for turkey stuffing. It's amazing what capers can do to spark up a dish. (Works magic with my potato chip/tuna casserole!)
Anyway, Luv: thanks for making me feel family.
(I couldn't face another convent Christmas dinner with the Renegade Sisters of Mary. Get this: Sr. Scatterpin's a devoted Detroit Lions fan. And quite a Red Wings hockey nut. Whatever ices your puck! Even among Recovering Catholics.)
PRINCE BATTUBA SYONARA: As this is a brand New Year, and I want to start it out in an honest, aboveboard way, I must decline your generous offer of being an overseas partner to a deal making us richer by $2 million dollars of tax-exempt money.
I am of course flattered that out of six billion people on this planet you chose poor lil' ol' me. Please be advised: I'm not straight. Nor am I about to change. For love or money. Fondest regrets. Get stuffed (Capers optional.)