December 17, 1943.
I thought you were through writing anything but V-mail; especially since my file contains letters for every day in the past few months. Imagine my surprise and gratification, then, when I received your long 5-page typewritten letter of November 22-23. As if this weren't enough—there was Mrs. Benis’ letter enclosed. There was a letter from Ruthie too. Definitely one of my better days. Your letter, Sweet was intimate, cheery, and altogether a delight to read. Thanks a million, Baby, for taking the time and trouble to write so long and so well for your ever-lovin’ hubby's benefit. It made me very happy to know that you are getting out and around these days; visiting our old friends, going to the theatre and the movies, etc. I like to think of you enjoying yourself, Honey, so do us both a good turn by continuing to “get around.” I'm even more sorry than you, Chippie, that I was unable to attend my daughter’s first birthday, but I have every hope of being there when the second rolls around. I can't, for the life of me, understand why Lil and Myra are sulking. I'm sure you couldn't intentionally do anything that might hurt their feelings. If they harbor a grudge, it must be because of some misunderstanding on their part. Hope they take the trouble to straighten it all out. Excuse me, Honey; four of the boys want me to make up a fifth for a poker game, and since you have given me the “go ahead” signal and because I hate to spoil their fun (to say nothing of my own) I’ll indulge. Wish me luck Chippie—
Well, that didn't take long. We played exactly 20 minutes. The game broke up at the end of that time because two of the guys went broke. As a matter of fact, everyone lost but Strongin,—he came out of it eight dollars richer. Not a bad 20 minutes “work,” eh? Now where was I before I was so rudely interrupted? Oh yes, I’d just finished talking about the unusual behavior of Lil and Myra. I think I've exhausted the subject. Let's talk about the punkin’ awhile. Did you get her new shoes yet? Those bunny slippers sound mighty cute, did you buy them? I'm not surprised you're still receiving compliments on Adele's blue outfit—it certainly is a honey. Why do you ask me whether or not you ought to enter Adele in Wolpe’s contest? You knew that you couldn't possibly receive my answer in time. Not that I care—one way or the other, understand. I don't see any point in it, but on the other hand, it can't harm anyone either. Since you did enter her, though, I wish both her and you luck (not that she'll need it with her looks). Don't you think she's a little too heavy for her age, Sweet? She appeared just a little too plump for my liking in that last batch of snapshots. Remember, I don't care for fat babies—don't let her get that way if you can possibly avoid it. I guess she's taking more than eight steps at a time by now, bless her. li’l heart. Why don't you tell me more about yourself, Chippie? Have you gained any weight lately? What do you weigh now? How are you feeling? Generally your query about my chances for making T/4 came as no surprise. I was wondering how long it would be before you got around to asking it. At the same time, I was wondering how I would answer it. I think I'll resort to the universal or stock phrase around here—“I don't know what to tell you”—(and I don’t). Maybe—maybe not. Day after tomorrow I'm slated to go on pass again and I'm looking forward to it. Tell you all about it first chance, I get, Baby, so if a day or two elapses between my letters, you'll understand why. Nothing of interest has occurred around here today and I'm just about “wrote out.” Tell Mom I'm still waiting for her letter. My love to all my folks. My best regards to the neighbors with a special wish that Mr. Frommer suffers no after-effects from his accident. Kiss my daughter for me. What can I say to you, darling, to convey the full extent and depth of my love for you? Remember how much I loved you last time I was “home”? Well, that's how much I love you now, in addition to the longing that can only be measured by the miles between us. I adore you, Angel. I am just as then