Dear Daughters Who Still Live with Me at Home;
When you "borrow" the shampoo and conditioner from my shower, have the decency to put it back.
It's bad enough that I have to go to work on a Saturday morning. (Yes, my friends, another funeral.) It's worse, still, that I have to go smelling like your father's Old Spice.
Those mourners' sense of smell will be all twisted now, thanks to you.
With seafaring wishes that you will do ask I ask, I am. . . .
