Dearest C,
Wait a minute – there was a hubby before hubby?! Did he die in a horror jet-ski accident before being miraculously coming back to life and marrying your evil step-sister who secretly gave birth to you in a cave and is therefore, unbeknownst to you, your biological mom?
While I admire how you choose to save such revelations for choice moments, dear C, I cannot help but feel a little hurt that you did not choose to confide this essential information to me earlier. I may have unjustly acquired the reputation for blurting out other people’s deepest secrets at the drop of a Cosmo (or any kind of alcohol) but rest assured, I would never breathe a word to Number 2, as I feel I must refer to current hubby from now on, for fear that it may lead him to entertain dark thoughts about the paternity of ‘his’ children.
Come to think of it, while there can be no doubt about the swarthy origins of your middle two cherubs, when it comes to both the oldest and youngest, one cannot help but remark on the startling presence of golden curls. Forgive me for saying this, dear C, but isn’t your own fairness a rather recent phenomemon?
Don’t worry, I won’t breathe a word – at least while I’m sober, which I fully intend on remaining, as part of my new health regimen. Of course, there is the little matter of dinner at the new Indian tomorrow night, but I fully intend to stick to Naan bread, and maybe a little boiled rice. Far be it from me to risk the break up of such an idyllic home – or worse, the revelation for hubby that the woman he married is not the blonde he thought she was – for the sake of a few beers and a plate of their (reportedly, delicious) murgh tikka masala.
Mum’s the word,
P.
