December 10, 1943
My own Chippie,
Hooray! Hit the “jackpot” today! No less than eight lovely, luscious letters. The dates: November 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 20, 26 (V-mail). This brings my mail up to date to November 28th. Please don't expect me to answer each letter individually, Sweet, ’cause there just isn't enough time. However, I will comment on some of the more interesting phases of your letters. First, about the snapshots; Except for that one picture you mentioned (head turned and smiling) Adele is a chunky little miss dressed in a stunning outfit—and that's about all. But, that one snap you single out for your praise is really worthy of your nicest adjectives. It has the added quality of charm. I expected the “outfit” to be attractive from your descriptions, but I wasn't prepared for the actual beauty and richness of the ensemble. It is far and away the nicest thing of its kind I have ever seen. It was good to see your dear countenance in one of the pictures, Sweet, and at the instant of recognition, I felt a tug at the old heart strings. Am I fancying it, Baby, or are you losing weight again? Why didn't you let Wolpe make a picture of you, too, Chippie? The last few snapshots of you didn't do you justic— at all. Are you running yourself ragged again? Sorry to hear that the cherub was so much trouble when she caught cold. Poor dear, she certainly didn't allow you much peace. On the other hand, you did get out on two occasions and I'm tickled you had a good time. Some day, Sweetheart, we certainly will go to the plays together as you say. In the meantime, try to put aside the notion that the edge is taken off your pleasure because we can't be “together.” Enjoy the play, or the movie, or whatever the entertainment happens to be for the sake of entertainment alone. I'm truly sorry that the thought of me so far from you brings on the blues when you should be enjoying yourself. Although I admit to the same feeling, Sweet, I will say that I have made an effort to enjoy myself without mental reservations. Don't give in to that sad, sweet longing—fight it and enjoy yourself. I can understand your reluctance to go shopping for new dresses at this time, but if you're going to get around more I'd much rather you bought some new things. You're not being fair to yourself in denying yourself to the point of boredom in wearing the same dresses over and over again. I'm sure you can see your way clear to spending a few dollars for a new dress or two. If you persist in your attitude of self-denial, I cannot help but consider it a personal affront; and I shall want to know how come? Don't forget that your income is as much—or more than it ever was, and I won't tolerate your skimping on yourself. I take the same pride in your appearance that I take in my own, so please, Chippie don’t let me down in this respect. Thanks, dear, for your kind praise of my little offering. It was entirely and exclusively meant for your edification, and if it pleased you, then I'm delighted; but your notion to submit it to a publisher is ill-advised, to say the least. Take it for your own, Baby, and don't for a moment consider making any move that can only lead to disillusionment. You think it's good? Fine! Let it go at that, Sweet, ’cause it really isn't “good” as a qualified critic would see it; but then, as I said before it was meant for your appreciation only. Understand? Thanks, too, Sweet, for the addresses of the two Eddies (P and S) and the news that the third Eddie (Strongin) is probably on his way over here. Tomorrow, bright and early, I'll send off letters to the newly acquired addresses. This afternoon I wrote to the Browns and Dot and Snuff. I still have to write to Mickey and Ray and I will at the next opportunity. Your puzzlement at the source of my bicycle amused me. I didn't intentionally overlook your query, dear, but I thought the answer was so obvious that it didn’t rate an explanation. Where do I get everything I own right now? From the US Army, of course—and that's where I got the bike. As a matter of fact, almost everyone in the company has one. O.K.? Sorry I can't continue with this, Honey, but it's time for lights out, so “Goodnight, Sweetheart, ‘til we meet tomorrow—”
Your Phil
P.S. my best love to all—but certainly!
