Peas sir, can I have some more?

Dear Mingus Khan,

I would like to extend my sincere condolences on the sad, yet timely, demise of all the fried peas. These lovely orbs of delight are now no more. Mostly because I ate them all this morning for breakfast.

I understand that you may be feeling something akin to anger, shock, disbelief, despair and sadness but I must ask you to compose yourself to read what I have to say in my defence. Most importantly, you must not feel regret. Regret that you didn't eat more the last time you came over. Regret, perhaps, that you didn't steal a few in your large black overcoat that needs to be drycleaned.

You, more than anyone else, know the power of the fried peas. Their inherent crunchiness combined with the light, yet spicy, flavor of their preparation was too tantalizing to resist. I am, after all, a hungry woman. If it makes you feel any better, my jaw does hurt from all that crunching.

I know that the fried peas (of which there was only one packet) are irreplaceable but may I offer you jam sammiches and cashew nuts in lieu of said snacks. I promise you that it will only be a few days before you are leaping about my room in your characteristic bear-like manner joyusly singing in the happiness of being in my company. After all, one must keep one's perspective straight.

Best regards,
Belko Barzini

P.S. They weren't good for you anyway.