Dear Rachel,

I was working on building a piano with the elephant poop you so generously provisioned when I was interrupted by a phone call from my mother who was out and about in Austin and ultimately had to hang up because she was worried that someone else was leaving the cake shop—Uh uh this woman has giant bags. I hope she didn't get mine. I'd better run in. OK talk to you later.—with the cake balls she had ordered.