Write about: the donation.
We didn't accomplish as much as I'd hoped to in the bathroom reno department today, but we did manage to put together a proper attic access point. So no more drafty hole in the ceiling, which is definitely a plus. It'll need to be caulked and painted at some point, but it's something.
I'll be spending most of tomorrow cleaning up the house in Kaleden and collecting the remainder of our things. Kat will be with the kids, teaching her last session before spring break, so I should have plenty of time to get everything done.
Famous last words, right?
Dear Sir or Madam,
I am writing to thank you for your very generous donation.
I would also like to apologize for the vague salutation that began this letter. You see, I was unable to decipher your handwriting to the point where I could actually read your name. The same goes for at least eight of my coworkers.
A few of us thought your name might be Rachel, another suggested Louis, Mike in accounting was sure it was Boris, and the janitor was absolutely adamant that it was Donatello.
Regardless of whatever your name may be, I shall say again: thank you.
There is, I must admit, one other reason for the letter you now hold in your hands. Or have spread open upon your dinner table. Or coffee table. Or dog.
I'm not here to judge you.
You see, there have been questions raised about the validity of your donation. There are some in my office that, yes, believe it to be a prank. The brainchild of a demented mind. A right, royal, dick move, as it were.
Please accept my deepest, most sincere apologies if any of this offends you.
At any rate, it would be greatly appreciated if, at your earliest convenience, you could confirm the dollar amount written on your cheque. Preferably before I am forced to walk into a bank and attempt to deposit it.
I shall anxiously await your reply. And I will keep my fingers crossed that you do, in fact, have the promised 'eleventy billion dollars' in your bank account.
Scroo Yu Jurq