Dear Mr Nobody,

It feels good to know that you are having the time of your life. How I know, you might wonder. Well, the last letter you wrote to your son landed in my hand. Perhaps you have forgotten that we live together in the same house.  He is not home, goodness knows where he’s gone; like father like son. And, ah, you write to your son in such a manner as if he is not a son but an old friend of yours. Shameless, utterly shameless you are.

It is a fact well-known that you do nothing apart from complaining all the time. I do remember how you used to complain about each and everything when we were studying together in the college. Everyone was fed up with you. Your very existence seemed an agony. But presently what a great change has come upon you. How well you speak of others (I mean of that lady of quality you mentioned). Sarcasm is your cup of tea, not mine. I will, therefore, speak to you in as plain a way as possible.

Tell me, did you kiss her? Did she kiss you? I mean, really if she wants to kiss you or something, let her do it. And let her do it in your neck. I can only wish, when she kisses your neck, she takes the form of a crocodile.

You say you will be staying in London as long as you please. I hope and pray to God that you will never be displeased come what may.  Well, I have nothing more to say.

Mrs Nobody

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