Letter to the mistress by Celia Bank

Dear Mistress
It appears that you think you have won the lottery…..indeed you have….but unfortunately it’s the Zimbabwean lottery and that aint worth too much.
Initially I felt very angry with you and I’ll admit I entertained some rather macabre revenge fantasies. I pictured him leaving you….at the altar….for me. I sniggered as I fantasised about the day he came out of the closet and we all went shopping for handbags together.

I completely blamed you. Yes – as if you had all the power and he was led, involuntarily, hypnotically, remote control-like, by the tip of his glans…..towards you. You were the predatory she-creature who honed in on the weakness of the man, with his selective shunt which only allows the blood to flow to one head at a time. Obviously we know where priority one was.

I totally excused him and put the blame all on you. What a lucky bugger he was. All the wrath that should have been directed at him, was diverted to you. So now…..I’m sorry but I’m not. I’m not sorry I blackened your name to such an extent that you feel more comfortable overseas. I will admit that I feel far more relaxed with you on another continent, for I cannot be sure of the power of my wayward fist when it may meet your jaw by-mistake-on-purpose.

So yes, lovey, you won! Why, you ask? You won because he left you too. You won because you no longer have to feast on another woman’s leftovers. You won because to be a millionaire in Zimbabwean dollars is nothing exceptional nor remarkable.

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