I am Proud of You, Girl!
It was 7 in the morning, I opened the door to get the milk packet from the bag, hanging from the latch. As I reached out to get it, I was startled to find an envelope, neatly sealed. It bore my name and address but there was no stamp. I assumed it was delivered by courier. I kept it on top of the shoerack, next to the door and went on to finish my chores, my daughter had her school and since my husband was out of station now, I would have to drop her at 7:30. The day went by and I entirely forgot about the envelope. It was only in the evening, after I returned from my walk, it caught my sight and I immediately grabbed it. I tore it open and got absolutely jawstuck. Oh, is it some kind of a joke? Is someone playing a prank with me? Is it my daughter, who often plays kiddish pranks with me, but not to this extent. Then who can it be? The reason for these stream of questions and possibilities clouding my mind was due to the queer content of the letter. It read: Dear Reubenna, Before you