I have contacted you before but you did not respond to me. My name is Lucy Woolf. I attend university and I do part time work as a dressmaker. I lost my father in an auto accident prompting my mother’s death because of it.
My Father, Jacobs Woolf, willed me a large portion of his real estate holdings and income properties valued at £5,700,000 Pounds Sterling. I have yet to place a claim on it but right now things are not good and I’d like to have it. My Father’s stipulation was that I was either 30 years of age or married.
(Allowing my Husband to be in control). I am 26 so only my husband can make a claim on my behalf. I’d like to offer you the opportunity to stand in as my Husband and will share it for your assistance. Your interest will be properly protected.
We have known each other many years, but this is the first time you’ve come to me for counsel or for help. I can’t remember the last time you invited me to your house for a cup of coffee, even though my wife is godmother to your only child. But let’s be frank here. You never wanted my friendship. And you feared to be in my debt.
Okay, I’ll ditch the Don Corleone preamble- God rest his soul- since you have no blessed idea what I’m referencing. But that’s the point. You’re trying to guilt me into a sick and twisted affair involving dirty money . . . and don’t get me wrong, I find that part of the equation extremely hot. But you don’t even know me, as evidenced by this idea that I would want to get married. Even for fun. Listen, I’m sorry to hear about your father’s untimely death. And not that I’m comparing, but your mother’s death is even more tragic, seeing as how she could’ve been partying in Rio right about now. But I digress . . .
Your offer leaves me with so many questions and no good answers. If I was in the mood for that shit, I would just watch Fox News. So I gotta ask, was your father a Scientologist? Was your mother’s death ‘prompted’ by maybe . . your father running her over with his car? And do you think maybe your husband is just low key looking for a third in the bedroom?
These questions may seem unrelated, and that’s because they are. But should you be able to respond to them with deep, dark, and diabolically illuminating answers that impugn their reputations, well . . it would definitely make you more trustworthy in my eyes is what I’m saying. After which I will have a few followup questions to which you must reply over steaks and martinis, with you and your hubcap picking up the tab.
I must let you know that I will only consider this indecent proposal if I get a third of the silver. In a treasure chest. extracted from the Titanic by John Cameron. And you will borrow from your own share to purchase me a Bengal tiger. These are magnificent creatures whose savage instincts I do not wish to marginalize in the least, so I will also be requesting the services of Kelly Ripa to serve as the official walker.
Listen, I realize my demands might be construed as unreasonable, but I learned a long time ago never to negotiate with terrorists. Mister Rogers taught me that. So tell that six feet worth of wood paneling that you call a husband to hit the bricks so you can do Rio in your mother’s honor with half the silver. And you’re welcome.
Tata till tee time!