Sunday Independent (Ireland) - Life - - HOME TRUTHS -

Dear Son, I know it is odd to write a let­ter to some­one who lives in your house. How­ever, it is clear you are ig­nor­ing the sug­ges­tions that I’ve been leav­ing around the house, such as the brochure for a new apart­ment block in Stil­lor­gan, which fea­tures a woman on the front with the big­gest boobs I have ever seen, and I’ve seen the mag­a­zines you hide un­der your bed.

Of course, it goes with­out say­ing that, as our son, you will al­ways have a room here in our house. On the other hand, get out.

It is hard for a mother to say this to her 31-year-old son, but not as hard as do­ing the wash­ing for some­one with mild OCD who in­sists on chang­ing his un­der­wear twice a day. How could any­one have that many ‘ac­ci­dents’?

We didn’t put you through med­i­cal school just to get one up on your Aunt Fidelma, whose four kids can hardly write their names. We also did it in the hope that you’d clear off once you qual­i­fied.

I am de­lighted to see you are us­ing the money saved on rent to save up for a de­posit and to buy the new BMW you ar­rived home in yes­ter­day. You know me well enough now to re­alise what I’m re­ally say­ing — stop us­ing us to fund your Ger­man-sports-car life­style, you saucy bol­locks.

I know you keep say­ing you don’t want to buy a place and watch the price go down. But even David McWil­liams said the other day that prop­erty can’t keep go­ing down, and he knows ev­ery­thing.

If you are in­ter­ested, I have a brochure about a new apart­ment com­plex in Dun­drum, which has a cou­ple on the front pre­tend­ing to have sex in their new kitchen.

Yours, Ma.

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