Mrs. Cadwalader,
Would it be at all possible for me to get an extension for my paper, please? I had to go to Reno this weekend for the funeral of Grandfather’s dog, and it would be ever so helpful to have a little extra time. If need be, I could do it this weekend, but there’s just a lot to juggle. Mr. Snickertail stipulated in his will that all the grandchildren are to juggle chew bones as his casket is lowered into the ground, which will be synchronized with a sober, acoustic cover of “Who Let the Dogs Out” by Baha Men. Up to this point I’ve never juggled a thing in my whole gosh darn life, so, as you can imagine, I need to practice.
I would’ve submitted my paper sooner, and I already had it written up, but my computer crashed last Monday before I could email it to you. I sent my computer to my uncle in Reno, because he works with computers, and I thought he might be able to fix it. But he left it in the living room. He still lives with my grandparents, you see, and Mr. Snickertail got to it. He really went to town on it and completely destroyed all of the documents I had saved. As he was chewing on the shattered remains of my once glorious laptop, one of the pieces got lodged in his throat and he died shortly thereafter, hence the funeral.
In some ways I blame myself for his death, and the grief pains me deeply. Some people might be so emotionally distraught that they would need three or maybe even four weeks before they could even think of writing a paper for an Introductory Linguistics class. However, I realize that I have to be strong, and if you really need me to submit my paper by Sunday, I suppose I could fight my way through this torturous burden, which my soul has yet to lay to rest, in order to satiate your demands.
Although, it is going to be difficult to do so. “Why,” you ask, “isn’t this just a simple matter of going down to the library and typing up a quick one page response to a journal article?” And, alas, I wish it were that simple, but, you see, my tears for the late Mr. Snickertail were so plentiful and unrelenting that they completely dried out my eye sockets. Last night at 8:00 PM I was rushed to the ER where doctors pronounced me legally blind.
I was only able to send you this email because my poor, incontinent mother, who is crippled with arthritis and undergoing aggressive chemotherapy, was kind enough to transcribe this request for me. However, if you really need me to submit this paper to you by Sunday, I suppose I might be able to convince her to work through the debilitating pain of her various afflictions to do me that one last favor before her impending death. For you see, she contracted the Bubonic Plague while trying to resuscitate the limp, lifeless body of Mr. Snickertail.
I know, I thought that it sounded ridiculous too, but I assure you it’s much easier to believe when it happens to someone you love. The doctors fear she won’t be able to recover, as she is already severely immunocompromised and fragile as a result of the aforementioned chemotherapy. Indeed, a series of cruel and unfortunate events have befallen our family and my laptop. It’s enough to lead one to question if God himself is dead.
Anyways, do let me know if an extension would be at all possible.
Sincerely,
Kelsey Burnham
(Dictated but not read)
Sent from my iPhone
-EJS, Senior Staff Member