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Hello, Audrey. Thanks for calling yourself my “sister” again. It’d been a while. Thanks, also, for suggesting I’m the “potentially crazy” one, and “horribly confused.” Pretty sure David’ll get a kick out of that one.
I wanted to address some of the concerns you seem to have about us sharing a house together, and then, if you’ll permit me, bring up a few of my own. I’ll start first by telling you I happen to love the fact that you’re actually calling this a ‘house’. Second, I can’t get enough of you saying that you “let me stay here.” Dry humor suits you, Audrey. It really does.
Moving on.
Please stop calling yourself “daddy’s little accident”. I was eight. I can only say I’m sorry so many times in one lifetime. For one last time: I’m sorry. The matter is now OVER.
You’re telling me that I need to close the garden gate securely and okay, that’s totally fair and I agree with you one hundred and ten percent. THAT SAID: You’re upset about ‘Buster’ running off but that’s what she DOES. Also: ‘Buster’ is a stupid name for a cat, indoor OR outdoor. And for the love of Pete please stop calling it a ‘he’. Maybe, Audrey, just maybe, Buster wouldn’t ‘run off’ if you stopped trying to give an outdoor, feral cat a fucking bath.
I did love your comment about the Chihuahua venom, though, I have to admit. You’re always funny when you steal jokes from 3:00 a.m. infomercials. Nice, Audrey. Mom would be so proud. She always was when you stole things.
Speaking of stealing, there’s a reason I left you without a ride at Clarice’s wedding, and you hit the nail on the head in your letter: it was a two-hour ceremony, and it was a pain in the ass for everyone, including Clarice. That’s why I kept getting up and stretching—but at LEAST I wasn’t making noises. Regardless, Audrey, who on God’s green Earth gets tattoos of their wedding vows during the fucking ceremony? Not friends of mine. I don’t mean to judge—I’m all for tattoos, and you of all people know that. At least Clarice and her new ‘husband’ had screens set up for us to watch. Anyway, sorry I bailed. The blood got to me.
Speaking of blood, you say you really didn’t have anything to do with Poppa’s death “besides being behind the wheel at the time”. You’ve said this before. I get it. I do. It would make more sense if he hadn’t been raking leaves in the yard at the time, Audrey. My advice, as it has been all along, is to get a lawyer. A good one. And remember that whatever happens when the verdict comes rolling in, Audrey: civil suits COUNT, you bitch.
Oh by the way, I showed Wally the photo album of us as kids. Did I not tell you? He was just over for quick chat while you were at “yoga” (what’s his name again?). Wally really enjoyed seeing us as children: smiling, playing, me with diapers on and you over a foot taller than me, walking around. Audrey, do you think maybe it’s time you tell Wally you’re not 8 years ‘younger’ than me? It might just be something he’s wondering right about now. You have no idea how marvelous it was to explain to him why the name ‘Audrey’ was written next to every single photo of you, and not ‘Kimberly’. Bottom line, Audrey: I might’ve let some things slip after a couple of glasses of wine. Wally might need to bend your ear for a little bit pretty soon. Whoops!
Bit of housekeeping, before I let you go: Hoping you got the fingerprints sent off like we’d talked about. It’s been weeks. Please don’t leave the toilet lid up anymore (classy, Audrey, as always). And seriously no it is not chestnut season any longer and I’m sick of hearing about it, notes or verbally. The ones in the jars don’t taste the same and you know it, so stop asking. Let’s stick with cognac and mushrooms for the time being, Audrey. I’m not giving up ground on this to you like I usually do. I won’t. Not this time. Not this year. (Do you like cream with the cognac? Just an idea, might be worth trying.)
As for any other issues I might have with you as my roommate, I heartily suspect most of them will be cleared up by the end of the month.
No reason. No reason.
All best,
Roberto.
xoxoxo
