In last week's paper, you published an article about a local couple, Sam and Joanna Stephens, who found an alligator near their pond.  Thank God the animal was safe!  You see, from the article's description, I believe the alligator may be my wife, Dixie. 

No, my wife wasn't transformed into an alligator; I mean I married outside my species.  We're proud to be an inter-species couple.  Her cold blood is pumped throught the warmest threee-chambered heart I've ever met. 

Yet, we're judged by outsiders, people who don't understand us country folk.  Just because someone has a house in town doesn't give them the right to say nasty things to me when I'm buying my stamps.  You know who you are, Old Woman in Post Office.  People like you are the reason Dixie and I couldn't have a proper church wedding. 

So Mr. Stephens, thanks for keeping Dixie under heat lamps and feeding her raw chicken (her favorite).  Just don't let the zoo people come and get her!  She don't need to get out of the house and start getting ideas in that tiny, apple-shaped brain of hers.  Next thing you know, she'll want to work outside the home or visit her sister in the everglades.  It wouldn't be decent.

We're an old fashioned couple.  We believe that the man is the king of the house, and that the wife should stay home and bury the eggs.  And yes, I will punish her for running away, not that that's any of your concern.  Every man has the right to beat his own alligator wife as he sees fit.  Says so in the Beatitudes.

So hang on Dixie, I'm coming for you.  Pretty soon you and me will be lying in the sand pit in the basement, snuggling to "Crocodile Rock" and trying to make a baby. 

Love,