Dear Sally, I’m on my honeymoon in southern New Zealand, staying in a stunning hotel where the food is delicious, views of Queenstown are too postcardy and the waiters too hot. I’m sitting on a comfy couch with a mohair rug over my knees, parked in front of a roaring fire and sipping a glass of Sam Neill’s Two Paddocks Picnic Pinor Noir 2008. All by myself. Except for the Two Paddocks. Where is Pieter, my new husband, you may ask? Well, Sally, he’s gone snowboarding up Mount Wherever with his mother.
It feels a little crowded in this marriage and the king size bed feels very cramped at night. She snores. Occasionally we creep into the bathroom to have furtive sex. The question is, we’ve been here a week and we’re due to fly back to Germany in two days. My mother-in-law, who flew to New Zealand with us, will be going back with us too. I suspect she has plans to move into our apartment in Dusseldorf. Pieter is too chickenshit to tell her where to go (Siberia, preferably). I don’t think this is going to work. What should I do? Yours desperately, Anita.
I’m so sorry that staying at the luxury hotel isn’t quite the action you’d hoped for. These places cost the earth but if you’re paying in euros, well, not so much. Anyway, I hope the bathroom floor was heated. Flush their passports down the loo, pack your bag and sprint to the airport. Don’t forget the Two Paddocks – it’s too good to leave behind. What you do when you reach Dusseldorf, I have no idea. That’s outside my job description and I have no idea why you married him in the first place. What a tosser.
Graciously yours, Sally.
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