Dear Auntie

3 Jan

Tante Agaath goes international! Ik heb meegedaan aan een schrijfwedstrijd op Figment, een Amerikaanse website voor jonge auteurs. Opdracht: schrijf een verhaal van max. 500 woorden over oud en nieuw of nieuwjaarsdag, en verwerk het woord ‘crush’ (of vervoegingen ervan) erin. HEART mijn brief aan ‘Auntie Phyllis’  HIER!

1 January, 2011

Dear Auntie Phyllis,

How are you, after last night’s New Year party? I must say I don’t have much of a hangover, but that’s no wonder; we hardly got around to the champagne right after midnight. The evening started out so merrily, but what a disaster it became. You must be crushed after losing your beloved Foufou in such a horrible way. Have you already retrieved any bits of him around the house? Or maybe you found his collar? Mum called me this morning and told me that Uncle Joe had been searching all night, right after he punched the bananas out of the man next door.

I remember talking to the lady from your knitting club, Mrs. Rose, around nine last evening (right after you yelled at little Esmée not to touch the canapés before all the grown-ups had some), and she explained that the relationship between you and your neighbor is not that friendly. Quite frankly, I think the situation was a train wreck waiting to happen. That might sound harsh, but I feel I should be honest with you. That’s what family is for, right? And, as I’m being honest anyway, I agree with her that you might have pissed him off by regularly going through the mail in his mailbox out front. But that’s just a hunch.

I know you’ve always liked to know what’s going on in town, but don’t you think checking (and occasionally even opening) his mail is taking it a tiny bit too far? Can’t you just find a senior volunteer job at the Bunville Gazette? That way you’d be on top of the local news, and I think it would do your reputation in the village good, too. I mean, when I went to the deli to pick up the snacks for New Year’s Eve I swear the lady behind the counter mumbled something like “gossiping old bat” when I asked her for Phyllis Craper’s order.

But anyway, being honest and all, I have the feeling that your daily mailbox search wasn’t the only thing that set your neighbor off. When we went outside to watch the fireworks, I heard him yell (and excuse me for the foul language, but I quote): “That’s what you get when you hire a private eye to spy on people, you prying shrew!” And that’s when he grabbed Foufou and tied him to the piece of fireworks.

I saw Foufou zooming up in the air, gone with a swish, and I felt sorry for the little mutt. In the hassle that followed, with the police coming in and the neighbor being taken away with the ambulance thanks to Uncle Joe’s upper cut, I wasn’t able to pay you my respects. Please accept them now. But also accept my help, and look up the number of the Snoopers Anonymous. I love you, but curiosity killed the dog, you know.

I wish you a sane 2011,

Love,

Your niece Anne

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