Dear Arthur

I’m sorry you pocket-dialed me from the bar at 11 p.m. the night before you called in sick. I’m sorry cilantro and parsley look so much alike, it really is confusing. But I’m not sorry that we played Beyoncé’s “If I Were a Boy” every time you walked in late and hungover at 4 a.m. to work side by side with the all-girl bakery team. It’s still funny. I know whatever you choose to create will be amazing; you have more courage and heart than anyone I know.