Dear C,
So sorry that I happened to be engaged in a vigorous round of mixed doubles the other day when you called round- and that you had to bear witness to my father’s penchant for knitting. In case you were wondering, that was a golf club sock he was just finishing, and not the latest bedroom accessory to tickle my mother’s fancy when she wakes up in the morning.
Certainly, a Cosmo or two the other day would have set me up nicely for an hour or so smashing balls around, but I had almost given up hope on drinking in company again, after my failed attempts to invite you over this past weekend. The oldballandchain and I feel that we still haven’t really got to the bottom of where you were in hubby’s absence, but assume that your cover story of ‘taking care of your four goddamn children’ is holding up for now. For the price of a small Mercedes, or pair of Manolos, I am prepared to swear you were with me and the obc the whole time, but fear this may lead to all kinds of questions about who beat who, and what the final score was.
Faithfully,
P.
