P,

I just finished the yoga class with Headmistress and I must confess it has worked wonders on my village holiday party stress level.  Remember how much we liked the instructor touching part, however inappropriate, during our hot yoga classes?  Well this class is much like that one only we are partnered with another class member.  I did feel some obligation to choose HM as she asked me to join, and although I think only hubby should be touching me in this way, I can’t say I mind, really.  And who could be trusted more than the guardian of my children’s virtues?

Do hope you’re finding similar relief tucked safely into your childhood bed.  Speaking of such issues, I forgot to mention that the obc, in addition to his usual insufferable behavior with the au pair, was chatting for quite a long time with my new nemesis, the woman in the red holiday sweater who was such a Santa diva.  I would like to think the obc was just trying to annoy me with his friendly repartee with her but there is something in her manner that suggests I put you on high alert.  As I was scurrying for the fifth time to potty with my todder, I was unable to do my usual thorough investigation.  Hope they both get just what they deserve.

It occurs to me, since our nuclear clan leaves for the Caribbean this week in order to reduce this mother’s holiday madness, we may not be able to communicate all of next week.  I’ll simply have to content myself with the knowledge that you may, in fact, be able to survive this moment without my good advice.   

Faithfully,

C.

Dear C,

The unseasonably calm nature of your latest missive is troubling in the extreme.  Could it be that your intense study of yoga these past few years has actually paid off, and that you have now entered the state of nirvana, so prized by soul-searching rock stars and suburban housewives alike?  If so, I’m afraid I must chide you for continuing to practice a pursuit that went out of fashion around the same time as Kurt Cobain.  But then again, dear C, I could never accuse the woman whose youngest practically emerged from the womb wearing a pair of pink Crocs of being anything but a trendsetter, so a more likely explanation, surely, is that the HM has proven to be far better at touching you than hubby.  Either that, or the effect of all those pre-party cosmos I know he likes to mix up has yet to wear off.

Speaking of bliss, managed to score my own little stash of Mother’s Little Helper last night – from dear old Dad, no less!  He swears that it’s the best thing for jet-lag, and sure enough, I emerged from my room the next day just in time for cocktails.  It’s going to be a good week.

Faithfully,

P.

P.S.  So sorry to hear of the incident last night down at the Village Hall.  From the description you supplied of the woman’s thighs, I’m guessing it was ‘Mad Dog’ Bitsy Douglas from the Village Traffic Committee you encountered – the woman who wants to turn her entire street into a vehicle-free zone, ‘to protect the children’ you understand.  Never mind that it means the rest of us will have to tack on a 15 minute detour onto each and every journey we make, as a result.  I suggest we strike back with a counter-proposal to restrict all traffic in the village to that conducted by horse-drawn carriage.  If this is the woman the obc chooses to betray me with, then he really will get what he deserves!

P,

What an unhappy post-partum surprise I had, fully unclothed, this a.m. when I hopped upon the scale you tossed my way just yesterday.  I can only assume your experience was much better as the scale I returned to you, after a quite protracted battle, does seem to bring out the best in both of us.  I weighed, dearest P, a full 1.8 pounds more than yesterday at the same moment.  Even if I assume the chocolate I ingested at your afternoon tea weighed a full two pounds, isn’t most of that burned off in the energy expended in conversation alone? 

In any case, I must insist upon additional control measures being put in place to assure I am no longer lured by your siren song to commit acts of such questionable morality.  I admit to feeling rather cheapened today by what I now see as your intentional sabotage.  My only wish is that I had thought of it first.  I seek revenge only by assuring you that whatever number you cheered about today is truly an underrepresention of the real you.   

Although some reasonable people might insist my vigilance about such issues allows me not to focus upon far more important ones, I tell them to put their fat asses on the scale and try to think about world peace.  What was your number today anyway?

Faithfully,

C.