Dear Torby and Sandra,
First, I would like to thank you for inviting me to another of your fine dinner parties.
After what happened last time, I certainly did not expect another chance. Everyone should be so fortunate to have such understanding friends.
And now, once again, I must apologize for what transpired on Saturday night. While I realize excuses are generally meaningless, I hope you'll bear with me while I attempt to explain myself.
I did not realize The Duchess would be attending again. There was no way you could have known about our turbulent affair that followed your last party. Her goiter turned out to be a great, swollen beacon of salty romance. Who knew? Alas, our love was not meant to last. We parted ways when my Alien Hand (Righty, as you undoubtedly recall) saw fit to reach for a maternity mannequin at a department store in an unfortunately provocative way.
The Duchess was understandably displeased to see me on that day. I don't blame her for throwing the soup tureen. My Alien Hand was ostensibly irritated by the ambush and, as sometimes happens, reacted. The victim, as you know, was your Ticciaia Chianti. And The Duchess. And your fainting couch. But mainly the Ticciaia Chianti.
I'm sorry, Torby. I'm sorry, Sandra.
I hope we can meet again soon.
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