Dear Mr. Robbins,


I’m a lucky gal.


I’ve been dealing with stress. Skyscraper shaped and two-ton Tillied. I do not like stress, sir.


At some point, I looked over at my bedside table and eyed a copy of Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates. I cracked the spine. In-between repetitive emails and blistering phone calls, I read sections of your book. And lo and behold, your wonderfully whack-job world took me right out of my own head. Hallelujah and pass the gravy. Excuse me, pass the Red Eye gravy.


Your work showed up just when I needed it most. So I thank you, Mr. Robbins. For reals. Not for play-play.


Later, gator,

Your fan, Mikki

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