Tommy's better half gets the knife as described in a letter to Brother Dave

Dear Dave, At the conclusion of a tough week and the beginning of a new one, I am sitting in the sun room at our house with your sister, my better half, sipping a cask strength 111.7 (Lagavulin, from Islay.). I chose wisely. The whisky expression was harsh, with a strong taste of iodine and antiseptic. It reminded me of the smell of Betadine, a surgical scrub soap swabbed on Jill's neck seconds before the business end of a stainless steel number 15 scalpel blade expertly plunged into her neck stopping a millimeter short of her spinal cord. I personally feel more comfortable in an operating room of a hospital than in most social settings. Especially, ones attended by JAG/kinder garden teacher whom I thought was quite rude in retrospect. Perhaps she saw my written critique of her meatballs. Seriously, who makes Mexican Italian meatballs? In any event, Jill's nerves are healing nicely and she should be 100% in a few weeks. Meanwhile I'll continue to soothe my neves with this fine whisky. Wish you were here. Slainte, Tommy Maaltman.