Dear Rosalind:
My lioness, my tigress, by Bastet (Egyptian cat goddess) I
do love a woman’s ire - hell hath no
fury!
You have plenty of balls, and you can write words to set
blotting paper alight! And there was I
unaware in my last letter I had, in effect, laid a gunpowder trail.
Now, allow me to defend myself!
When I wrote in the poem I sent to you that I wanted to
‘touch your flower’, I was simply employing artistic license (read it again,
you’ll see!); please accept that I am not the dirty, rotten pervert you say I
am. But I will admit I lust for you
(although, in part, this is because I have precious little in the way of female
contact at present – quelle surprise?
You might scoff!). I seem to be two of
two things to women: deeply and sensuously attractive, as well as mysteriously
repellent. An old friend used to refer
to me as Darcy, in fact.
Thinking about it, Rosalind, you and Jane (Austen) must be
congratulated for your shared gumption and outspoken nature(s). I am more than dimly sensitive to the fact
women are on the road to achieving parity with men in nearly every walk of
life: fare thee well, and good luck with it!
If you cleaned up your language, my dear, you could become a Bennett
sister: individual names escape me – I suppose I am referring to the mannish
one who wooed the aforementioned Darcy.
Can you see a parallel developing here?
In other news, I am having my kitchen redecorated just now
which is slightly inconvenient. You may
recall I told you how I love to cook, but there’s also nothing wrong with those
Marks and Spencer ready meals you know – lots of fresh salads for me
these days (I think I’ve lost a stone!).
But you surely don’t want to hear about my weight, height,
shoe-size: this letter isn’t intended as a prep-school medical report!
Would you send your child to be privately educated? I ask in case it ever comes that such a
decision has to be made between us. If
it helps I say absolutely ‘yes!’ It’s
important for young, impressionable people to mix with a proper sort. We wouldn’t want a football hooligan or a
lap-dancer to have to raise and accept as our own. Moreover, we’d be ostracised by the dinner
party set, where all the best chatter happens.
I suppose I should close with an apology for insinuating I
would like to touch your flower: so, sorry!
Fritz sends his love, as do I.
Yours,
... still respectfully keen on you.
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