Founding Father

Editor’s note:  The following column, written by our esteemed guest, is proudly presented for your reading enjoyment, but does not necessarily reflect the views of the editor or the staff of The New Family Standard.

Dear Martha,

I must confess that these lonely winter nights have made me long for your company.  The situation here at Valley Forge is beyond description – malnourishment, fatigue, a great dirth of morale.  I simply cannot wait to return to Mount Vernon to your arms, to the warmth of our home, and to that amazing leftover Pad Thai that’s waiting for me in the larder.

Which brings me to the subject of this letter.  I love you, darling, and this war I fight is for our future, but if you so much as sniff that Pad Thai in my absence, I swear upon King George’s knickers that you will suffer as never before.  The thought of returning home to mere scrapings clinging to the bowl, and just a shadow of rice noodles remaining, is more than I can bear.  (I would rather meet the end of a rusty Redcoat bayonet than discover than you, in my absence, have gobbled my Pad Thai into oblivion.  Dear wife, for your own safety, refrain from eating it.)

I’m writing this letter after a long day of inspecting troops, who are pitifully unfit to fill their own trousers, yet alone aim and fire a musket.  I fear that this collection of rabble we call soldiers will be the upending of this entire revolution.  Much like your potential eating of my Pad Thai will be the upending of your own livelihood.  Did I mention how delicious it will be?  Each savory, ethnic bite, filled with noodly goodness, grilled prawns, and those weird bean sprout things – it simply gives me the strength to fight this great war.  So for the sake of our country’s future, Martha, do not eat my Pad Thai.  I swear upon Jefferson’s secret lover’s identity that you will rue that day.  (It’s Sally Hemmings, by the way, but don’t tell a soul.  Tom would kill me.)

Well, commanding an army awaits me, so I must sign off with love and devotion.  And a final, urgent warning, that you will perish in the fires of hell if you eat my Pad Thai.

Yours most affectionately,