Dearest Lydia,
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a gentleman is never more attractive than when he drops his exquisitely toned posterior down, on beat, and into the splits.
With one’s four elder sisters married to three strappingly mutton-chopped men and one pianoforte, I shall admit regretting the time I’ve spent yearning for companionship. Years have slipped by during which I’ve dreamt most ardently of the right man to come along, grasp my hand, look deeply into my eyes, and pop his big juicy dump truck down to the floor.
However, I am delighted to write, my sweet sister, that this very eve, such a man appeared before me.