My dearest Jonnicakes, I have just faxed you the monthly financials. I regret to admit that I have once again produced a less than perfect report.
I donated 20 cents to the petty cash to even things out, and I didn't tell you. I'm sorry, my dearest Jonnicakes.
I also misread a $134 as $143, and as such, I ended up making and cashing a cheque to restock the petty cash that was off by $9 surplus.
I thought of lying to you, my dearest Jonnicakes. I thought of making it all go away, and secretly stuffing the $9 in the bottom of the petty cash box, to correct some future mistake. I'm ashamed to say that one of the receipts I had to fax you kept me honest. I didn't have time to scan it, and change it in photoshop. Oh, my dearest Jonnicakes, can you ever forgive my larcenous thoughts?
If any solace comes to me in this month's mess, it is only that I found it sooner rather than later. Each month I make similar mistakes, but I am starting to find them sooner, my dearest Jonnicakes. One day, I might submit a perfect, error free monthly report, with no little notes scribbled in the corner, and no page explaining what went wrong.
Until that day comes, my dearest Jonnicakes, I can only thank you for not unleashing your omnidirectional wrath upon the little blue ball we call earth.