A Florida Man’s Apology

Dearest brother Matthew and ever-so-wise, breathtakingly beautiful and compassionate sister-in-law Nina,

I hope that the two of you and sweet Peaches have begun to heal from the trauma I caused. Even though you wouldn’t accept my phone calls from jail, I must apologize, or I’ll never forgive myself.

During my short incarceration, Mum scoured the country to find a specialist who could cure me. Using her patented technique, Dr. Ludwig miraculously snapped me back to reality. Upon my release into the Fräulein’s care, I have begun to grasp the abominable events that transpired while I was graciously dog-sitting for you.

I know I haven’t been the most responsible brother (in-law), but despite my unusual proclivities—I swear on grandmother’s key lime pie—these particular shenanigans were out of my control!

Nevertheless, I am truly sorry.

I suppose I shall start from the beginning.

While the two of you were enjoying your Digital Detox Retreat, I had every intention of having an uneventful, restorative stay with Peaches. No dancing ladies. No boozing. Anyway, everything was going hunky-dory until Peaches and I took a Sunday stroll.

We found a large crowd gathered in the park. Naturally, my curiosity compelled me to get a closer look. Perhaps I was also tempted by two fine madams who insisted on petting the dog. While they were swooning, the object of the crowd’s fascination revealed himself: a man boasting a top hat and tailcoat, proselytizing from a wooden box. He beckoned to me, “You, sir! You look ripe for manipulation!” He had one of those dangling, spinny thingamajigs. By God, I don’t know how he did it. Instantly, I was transfixed.

I believe Peaches may have been affected as well. Nevertheless, I hope she has also apologized. Do not be deceived by her cuteness! She is as culpable as I.

The last thing I remember was the haze of onlookers, reveling and roaring with laughter.

I do not recall when I began insisting people refer to me as Pierre Fromage, but that is the name signed on the bill for that ridiculous checkered suit and Peaches’ tutu.

The police were able to retrieve surveillance footage of the purchase from Florida Man Pawn (I must say, we did look rather dapper).

Apparently, my debonair digs and very realistic French accent, in the company of my silky-furred co-host Miss Spaniel White, were enough to charm Oyster radio station into putting us on the air.

I know you’ve heard the recording…

Pierre Fromage introduced himself as the host of HGTV France Dream Home Giveaway, with Spaniel White enthusiastically barking in the background, in town for an overseas extravaganza.

Your address just slipped out of my mouth.

The radio station advertised the raffle for the next week, culminating in the open house I know you both will forever relive in your nightmares.

Too bad the initial phone calls the Retreat receptionist received were dismissed as a prank. By the time you returned from your flying yoga seminar, Mum said you were greeted with dozens of frantic messages from friends and relatives who heard the radio ad. Matthew, you must have driven home in terror. Nina, Mum said you were so car sick you upchucked tofurkey all over your batik yogi pants. My sympathies—I know they were your favorite (trousers are included in the itemized damages below).

It must have been shocking to arrive home to find the bachelorette party wagon and the youth ministry van parked outside. Smoke billowing from the windows. Screaming, scantily clad bachelorettes running in terror. Children praying in the grass. Fire trucks wailing in the distance.

I don’t know who hired the mime or the monkey. I hope they were paid well—they really put on a terrific show!

Over two hundred people showed up to buy a raffle ticket.

I tried to keep up with the hungry masses—that’s what started the fire: Pierre’s famous ratatouille (again, Spaniel White assured me she’d set a timer; instead, she just shit all over the house…).

In case you’re wondering—the winning raffle ticket went to the bachelorette party, which had pooled together to win the dream home for the bride-to-be and her fiancé. I hoped to draw a ticket purchased by the youth ministry, which had envisioned turning your estate into a shelter for the homeless.

As you can see, everyone involved had their heart in the right place.

So, dear brother and sister-in-law, I solemnly grovel for your absolution. If you can forgive me, please write back to:

Pierre Beauregard

Care of Dr. Ludwig Von FrankenSchlocker

Asylum for the Recently Hypnotized

Sincerely,

your favorite big brother (in-law)

P.S.

Dr. Ludwig has advised my transition will be smoother if I continue to go by Pierre. Beauregard is a name I’ve always fancied, and considering I may no longer be welcome in this family, it seems fitting to adopt a new surname.

P.P.S.

Enclosed is a check for $14,000. That is all the money I made from selling my trailer and moving in with Dr. Ludwig, who will provide me room and board as long as I am willing to be a test subject for her revolutionary hypnotherapy practice.

P.P.P.S.

Someday I hope to recover the total losses and repay you for my misfortune. Here is the list of estimated expenses my feeble mind can recall:

$65 — Batik yoga pants

$685 — Carpet cleaning (I think Peaches should cover at least half; I may have defecated on the carpet as well)

$3,218 — Ambulance Ride (Nina, after she went into shock)

$5,000 — Kitchen ceiling/roof repair (fire damage from the burning ratatouille)

$10,000 — Hot tub (please replace; I filtered it with Kool-Aid for a week for a festive look)

$17,250 — Mum’s funeral expenses

Total: $36,218

Payment enclosed: -$14,000 (from sale of my single-wide)

Remaining balance: $22,218

Note: I have generously included a certificate for three hypnotherapy sessions with Dr. Ludwig for Peaches.

P.P.P.P.S.

Tell Peaches she owes me $43.