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Let me introduce myself, for you probably don’t know who I am..

 

You will not recognize me from my voice, nor my scent, nor my posture or smile. I am nothing to you but a memory of a name, which if you hear it you will hopefully remember as the name of the firstborn of your second youngest son.

Although born when you were aive, I started growing up only after you died. And I really started living some forty years after that, but that would be another dear.. letter.

There was one incident (or picture) where I was sitting on your lap, but besides that I don’t have anything else. Well, I do remember one thing. That I was afraid of you. But that is probably because you were so old and I was so young at the time. I know you were born in 1893. Every time I realize I live in the now I sometimes think about you, because you were born in the Middle Ages, as far as I’m concerned. You had no running water, there were no cars, no television, I heard you bathed all your thirteen children once every week, taking turns in one wooden sort of tub that eventually held more filth than water. How you had three beds for thirteen children and that you all slept with your clothes on. I heard you had a entire smoked pork hanging in the attic (dead of course), providing you with enough meat for the family to last you a year round. I hear that everyone’s back door was always open, everybody could just walk right in.

I heard that there was one phone in the village and that some aunt used to be the general news giver, when she went from house to house spreading what she heard.

So.. Probably I would have to explain this thing called ‘cellphone’ to you, how it is possible to talk to someone when your words do not go through a wire.. and then introduce you to the concept of a smart-phone, to get to these things called apps, and specifically whatsapp.

How can I make you understand the harshness of living of this age. Because you had it easy. You hit your kid when he stole an apple. One apple, one slap in the face. You just all went to bed when the coals stopped burning and the house got freezing cold and pitch black. Besides, there wasn’t anything to do, because all the kids normally all went outside to play, what would they do inside the house..

You had it easy. You got on your boat to work. Grandma raised the kids. Predictable roles. You had males, females. Daytime, nighttime. We have it much harder. We have autocorrect.

If I must explain what that is, it’s like having to rely on aunt Ellie for your daily news, knowing (or not knowing) that she has a really bad hearing problem, or unpaid bills to her Freudian therapist. Or maybe I can just give you a little insight.. I mean,.. we have it so hard.

In a recipe for cake the vanilla extract would become vaginal extract. A lovely ‘I miss you’ message, containing the uncovering of the secret that my boyfriend is sleeping with my shit because he loves the smell of it would of course be the shirt he took from me. And a harmless weekend chore of washing your Volvo would sound as if you lavished in washing your vulva. Having gum being stuck in your hair isn’t nearly as bad as having cum in your hair. Spending a Saturday evening masturbating.. eh.. menstruating.. eeh.. meditating. Or spending the evening together saying cheers, drinking a cock and then having jizz expoding all over your face when all you said to aunt Ellie was that you had a coke,.. and then the fizz.. And all this could probably not be said with grandma around, so also out of respect, we’re gonna stop now, because we hear she is homosexual.. no.. she is homo hot lips.. no.. she is hot tulips.. and then we would get really fisted with this whole autocorrect thing, no.. frustrated.. and then we tried one more time, saying grandma is h o m e.

Like we said, dear grandpa. we have it hard.

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