Dear John Deere,
John, dear and loving husband that he is, or was, has gone off the deep end. He no longer depends on me to nudge him out of bed in the morning. He's so obsessed with his new riding mower, he gets up with the crows and marches out the door with his green John Deere baseball cap you sent him, the one with "Owner's Edition" embroidered on the side, and hops on his mower to cut the grass. Oh, in case you aren't aware of your demon machine and its powers, Owen Case, the neighbor a half-mile to the east, is also obsessed with his John Deere. What is it with men and their machines? Deer used to roam through our property in the afternoon while I enjoyed a proper tea ceremony. This was important to me, me being English and all. But no more. John, with green hat on, practically killed a fawn cutting the lawn while the doe and I looked on.