Tough Cookies, Sister

October 10^th, 1806

Josephine,

Listen: if I hear so much as an unsubstantiated rumor that you’re even looking at anything that reproduces, I will march back to Paris this instant and strangle it to death in front of your sex-crazed eyes, you sex-crazed devil-woman. You love only ME. Got that? That means no touching, talking to, hearing, or looking at anything else. Ever. I’m having General DeGrenier construct a sensory deprivation chamber to make this all possible (he knows that if he even looks at you, I’ll finely dice him in the guillotine, add chicken stock and leeks, and feed him to the poor he despises so much). When—and only when—I return from conquering native lands for the glory of France, you may exit this device and commence the joy of loving me. Before that, meals will be fed to you via a tube by a pre-pubescent girl from a virtuous family wearing a cast-iron suit. “Potty breaks” won’t happen. Tough cookies, sister. Loving me is a full-time job, and it’s time for you to do some dirty-work (although you better bathe before I return—let the General know via the emergency communication hatch and he will evacuate the closest six arrondissements).

Thinking of you pretty much every other day,

Napoleon Bonaparte

p.s. You should see how these Austrian women dress…Time to conquer some fertile lands (I’m suggestively wagging my brows).