Dear Jane,
You think you are so clever, don’t you? Sitting there smugly with your outdated/classic hairstyle and that patronizing smile–and what’s up with those cheekbones?–but I know that you are mocking me.
I’m not insulted that you think me a fool. No, I am angered that you think me too dim-witted to realize that you think me a fool.
I am no one’s fool, Jane.
Remember that I chose you, Jane. I chose you over Milly (just a child, really) and Harry and Rich. And still you taunt me; you torture me.
We are not friends; we are opponents, but what sort of opponent are you?
Oh, I admit you are skillful, but I doubt you are as good as you appear. Too many times I have doubted the probability of your wins. In short, Jane, I think you cheat.
How else can you be ahead of me 143 to 112? How are you able to call “Gin” so often? How many times have I never even gotten to play a hand? No sooner are the cards dealt than you “knock” or call “Gin” and I am left with all those face cards, falling further and further behind.
You humiliate me, Jane. But no more.
I am taking this stupid Gin Rummy app off of my phone — just as soon as I pull ahead of you.
Curse you, Jane. Curse you!
My Dog Ate a Lightbulb 