My dearest neighbour Elizabeth,

I had no clue that you were so amusing. You are so imaginative, too.

But if this letter of invective is a true account of your sentiments, I grieve for you. For now I know, you are imprisoned by your own illusions and sick fantasies. How idyllic a time you must find yourself in. You must feel liberated and free in your clear bashing of class and superior social status. Let me name the ways I see fit for you to improve yourself. I believe that if you bring yourself up to a socially respectable level you may, with much greater facility, be able to blend into the background that I have so generously painted and maintained for you.

This backdrop is so delicate and fragile that any ripple across it, no matter how small may distort and destroy the picture. Madam, it is not I who would stand in ruins, but you. You may have "found your voice", but its weak and feeble cries do nothing, but inspire pity. I pity you, madam, as one pities a child who has not enough money to buy sweets after school. Yes, Elizabeth, this pity is small and shall pass, and you will be left the loser. I shall not feel sorry then. I would rather keep you in the backdrop of my life, for you are like my little dog. When people see you, they know that I'm nearby.

I intend to keep you nearby. You amuse me, and you balance the standards. When I say that I mean… How shall I explain this in a way your mind could understand? I understand that I am close in affect to the Queen. When you are around, you make me seem more attainable to the common people. At the same time, when you are around me you are elevated.

You see I have this burden, this lady's burden. I have achieved so much that I must look down and elevate those who have not reached my status. And that is the case with you. I have extended my hand to feed you the information that you would need to rise. How have you responded? You have bitten the hand that feeds you.

I will be brief in my criticism of you, for I do not wish to exert any more of my valuable time on this nonsense.

You must learn how to be dainty.

You must stop breaking my GENUINE Royal Doultan with the hand-painted periwinkles.

You must stop your voice cracking like a teenage boy.

You must fix your hair.

You must buy better clothes if you want to be associated with someone of my caliber.

You must learn how to apply make up for candlelight suppers. You current makeup makes you look like a lady of the evening.

You must stop preventing your brother from enjoying my presence.

You must stop your sluttish manner when in the presence of my husband.

You must learn how to pick a hat.

You must learn how to pronounce your words clearly. SAY THIS: How now brown cow?

You must comprehend the fact that you have trouble making friends through no fault of my own.

You must realize that a teacup is a fragile thing.

You must learn that when you are driving a car with a passenger, you may not be reckless.

I am your friend only by the unmerited gift of the Lord's all-encompassing Grace.

SAY THIS ALOUD, "I am a lady and I must carry myself as a lady." Now write that sentence fifty times.

Elizabeth you are approaching the end of your life with great and quickening speed, and as such you must begin to consider your legacy. Do you really want to be remembered for the shortcomings I have so graciously listed for you? I want you to, earnestly, honestly, to bring yourself up to a position that befits any one of my friends or at least neighbours.

Your daughter is to inherit the meager possessions you are leaving for her. You were her leader. I know that this may not be acceptable in all social circles, but your face. How can that face be the face of a leader? Your posture is hunched. Your face droops. They have surgeons who can fix these things now. Look in the phonebook, I assure you someone has enough expertise for a case of your severity.

BREAK

Let me address the 'grievances'.

I am not imperious.

I am not a "Social Climber' for I have attained a position, through my merit and works, that have elevated me above you.

I must make sure that the Vicar respects the language, for in the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. Being grammatical shows respect for the Word, Jesus.

Emmet is so infatuated with my charms that my lovely voice intoxicates him.

Onslow must wear a vest to ensure that he does not scare any decent person. You should be scared of that, but you are not. How decent are you really?

Candlelight suppers are the highlight of this community's calendar.

My voice is pleasant to everyone including your brother.

A lady should always walk in from the front door. Only a mistress comes and goes through the back.

The rest of the 'faults' you find with me are preposterous.

Hyacinth Bucket, your neighbour.