Letters: September 20, 1951

    If my writing seems more erratic than usual it’s because it’s so damn cold. And I mean really cold. We haven’t a stove and no prospect of one in sight and it’s cold all day long too. I hate the cold--in fact. I’d prefer 150° temperature the year around.
    It was wonderful to hear you and talk to you. No kidding. But I must confess something--there was so much I wanted to say--a whole lot of things, and I never got to say them. Not your fault at all. It was just that I never seemed to get started and believe me, there was a whole lot I wanted to say--and to ask you. Next time I’ll make sure I’ll say what I mean to say.
    You ask for something sexy. Why? What I sent may not seem too sexy, although I would like to see you in it. And I hope to gosh it fits. You have never told me your sizes in anything so I guessed on this deal with the help of the salesgirl--to some extent. The other little thing--a bit of jewelry is, I think, real sharp. There again I wasn’t sure of the size but you can have it fixed. Your color picture was okay except for the way you fix your hair. I like it best when it’s long and down on both sides of your face. Like when I last saw you. And your mother is real cute and attractive--uh--er--would consider bigamy--if she’s a good cook that is?

    Okay Baby--I’m so damn cold now I’d better hit the sleeping bag for about eight hours. So I can thaw out. My love to San Francisco. Bye for now.
    P.S. I thought at first you were sending letters in blood, but orange blood--?? Ouch!