February 21, 2017

My Dearest Dolley,

I cannot express how much joy your letter provided me as your words of affection have eased my disquietude and bilious fever. The weather is warm enough in Montpelier for the blue indigo to be already visible from the portico, though I have been shut inside of doors most days, suffering much from seizures and press conferences.

I hope it is true that you have matured since our separation, and that your recent religious conversion renders your yoga pants ever fastened, as I trust you recall the untimely unfastening of your attire that precipitated our last quarrel and parting.

But as always dear, I envy your vigor, and now so too admire your civic participation. As the capacity and power of the female mind cannot be doubted, I trust your friends know well that checks and balances inscribed in our nation’s vital document are most responsible for recent victories and our continued survival at the tiny hands of a so-called leader. I am sure your pussycat hat helped. But my feeling is that progress is more likely to be borne in the silence of a drawing room than in the commotion of city streets.

I am saddened that I was not able to witness your principled marching, and am sorry more that I have not seen your vulva la resistance sign. I cannot keep pace with you in all aspects of this life. You know that my body is of feeble constitution. But our nation’s constitution is stronger than oak, and I am still pleased with having crafted those rights to which you now so freely exercise. Has your friend Gronk crafted anything beyond a bicep curl? You might be pleased that in fact I have newly taken up this doltish activity, and procured a Bowflexing machine from Craig’s listing that I have placed adjacent to the south passage. I plan next to add a device that simulates rowing a skiff.

If we are to be reunited, you may find that your Jemmie’s shoulders can bear more than the burden of a nation, but so too the weight of two 45 lb. plates. If we are to remain apart, I request that you at last kindly retrieve your beloved parrot, which says merely “Pretty bird. Fake news” while defecating on the newspaper lining in the foyer, and costs $15 a month in feed.

All of my remaining affection embraces our nation’s delicate future, and as always, your delicate heart.

James Madison