Dearest C,
No need to apologise for the lapse in communication over the past week or so. I know you and yours were busy sunning yourself in the Islands, prior to mailing out the ultimate eat-your-heart out family holiday card, to arrive on friends’ doorstep just as they prepare to contemplate the joyless abyss that is the week between Christmas and the New Year. BTW, were you finally able to persuade your mother not to appear topless? If not, a couple of Photoshoped coconuts should cover your embarrassment – or you could always use the same program to enhance your own assets on a level with hers. God forbid that we should be outshone by the women who gave birth to us!
As you can tell, any positive effects from my own pre-Christmas jaunt to London wore off faster than the buzz from my in-flight cosmo. On the bright side, a spot of turbulance over the Arctic Circle resulted in a twisted ankle and an upgrade to First Class, where I was able to partake of some liquid nourishment from a fully-reclined position. Unfortunately, my trusty ankle has since proven more of a hindrance, when it comes to beating a hasty retreat the family caroling – nasty habit that, spontaneously breaking into song whenever I approach.
Thanks for keeping a sharp eye on things while I was gone. Other than appearing considerably thinner, and more cheerful, than before I left, I see no change in behavior on the part of the oldballandchain that might indicate his participation in a relationship with a woman whose ankles put many a tree trunk’s to shame. But I intend to check his back for scratch marks tonight, all the same. You never know what turns on a traffic nerd.
Faithfully,
P.
