Hello Sweetheart:
The 20 brew confession of last eve--had lotsa false courage, and very wet eyes during the labor. Today, well hon, things are still in the same light. It’s funny, have prayed and also consulted the men of the medical proffesion quite frequently. Both seem to be of no avail--am going to be half-hair and half-hairless fairly soon. It isn’t the losing of it that makes me so sad, tis the place--of all the damndable spots--back of neck. It’s like someone dropped an unextinguishable bit of fire on a piece of cloth.
Just keeps spreading and spreading--purty soon, it goes out, but then the damage is done.
When you read both the sober and unsobered parcels, you’d better do away with this character’s advances and catchum a new man. It’s awful hard to say things like this--oh so velly hard, but do believe it for the best. You don’t want a bewigged husband to escort you around--I’m positive you don’t Hon. This little business is the reason I haven’t written very good or regularily of late. When a commander keeps saying, “Can’t cure,” becomes rather discouraging--Like being told, “We’ll take your right arm off.” So damn self-concious now that won’t take hat off except when absolutely a necessity(?)
Bout to cry again, bye
Love
Kenny Lee
Kenneth Lee Martin SM2/c
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