Dear Hubby,

I just thought I'd let you know that due to your unusual abundance of flatulence, our sheets are now singed and need to be replaced. I have decided, contrary to my southern genteel nature, to fart right back at you each and every time you aim one in my direction, be you asleep or awake. It is time to fight fire with fire; or in this case, fart with fart. And I will have an air mask while you will not.

I have also decided to buy you some Breathe Right Strips as your snoring has become as loud as a turbo jet fighter plane. If that doesn't do the trick, I vow to snore as loud as you do in order to get my point across that you need a nose transplant. Well, actually, I already snore as loud as you from what I have heard from family members who have spent the night, so I vow to snore LOUDER.

I have also decided to start wearing nothing but a t-shirt and my underwear around the house each night just like you; except I will wait until the kids are in bed asleep as they could be traumatized even more by my semi-nudity, whereas you have not bothered to care. Therapy costs, Dear, and they are racking up a hefty bill already.

In closing, I want to remind you that next time you come over to the desk while I am writing and prop your foot on the desktop while wearing nothing but your underwear, you will regret it. It isn't sexy, but it is a temptation to elbow you in the crotch.

Your loving wife