My dear Calculus Students,

I have great news--my doctor says I'm not allergic to pollen after all!! It turns out the reason I'd been itching so much was because the box with my seashell collection broke, and so sand got all over the place. (I used to keep my seashells in my underwear drawer). Let me tell you, I feel a lot better now.

You will also be happy to hear that I got my first job. I'm helping to design a loft for Dr. Crannell's younger sister. It sure does pay to have connections! Speaking of paying, I'll be glad to share the profits 50/50 with you if you can help me with this one math question she asked.

I have to admit, though, that I have been a little hurt by some of the comments that your classmates have directed at me. A guy doesn't like to think other people sneer at his livelihood. Why, some of your classmates hinted that I might be incompetent! I resent that; I resent it extremely.

Why, just take this latest thing that happened to my house and see if you don't think this could have happened to anyone.

I moved back into the house earlier than you expected. (For some reason, all my neighbors got together to pay for another contractor to come in to remove the pollen. I could have saved them the money, as I was going to do it myself, but it was a kind gesture).

My whole family was visiting. My mother (Alicia) was baking a cake for my birthday. My father and most of my brothers were down in the basement playing ping-pong. My brother Alistair and I were upstairs, working on brightening the place up. Alistair was cleaning his carburetor with carburetor cleaner. I was busy painting poppies around the ceiling trim, going for that Dorothy-in-Oz fantasy look. You can tell those classmates of your that I was being extremely careful. I had canvas dropcloths on the floor; my ladder was brand new; and I was even wearing a safety harness that I'd bolted to the wall, to protect myself from falls.

Things were going along just great until the telephone rang. I'd been expecting a call from the insurance company, so I jumped down from the ladder to get it. Problem is, I was still bolted to the wall, so I only jumped halfway down. There I was, swinging from a hook in the wall with the phone on the floor ringing away. I realized that I could pivot over, putting my arms down and my feet up, and reach the phone. But as my feet went up, they knocked the paint can off the ladder and it spilled all over me and my clothes.

Alistair was no help at all, let me tell you! He watched all this happen and didn't lift a finger to help. In fact, he started laughing so hard he nearly wet his pants, and then he started choking. That's when Mama came in carrying my birthday cake. She looked at me, swinging by my back from a hook in the wall and covered in blood-red paint; she looked at Alistair who was groaning and rolling around on the ground; and then she dropped the cake on the ground and went screaming out of the room.

And that's when the trouble started.

The cake landed sidewise on a bunch of Alistair's used newspapers, and birthday candles ignited the carburetor cleaner, which made those things go up like fireworks. I think it was the curtains that were the next to go, but it might have been the canvas dropcloths. It all gets so hard to remember. I managed to claw my way through the smoke back to the ladder, turn right side-up, and unbolt myself from the wall. The whole family made it out of the house just in time and nobody was injured.

At any rate, you can see why my feelings were hurt by what your classmates said about me. Who could have prevented a freak accident like that?

And you can also see why I'm happy at the prospect of a real job, working on a real house (now that mine has burnt to the ground).

I have enclosed Tasha's letter. Please get back to me by April 16. Remember, we share the profits 50/50!

Your partner,

Al L. Thumbs