Dear Baby Martini,
Well, well, well, it's finally come to this. Action needs to be taken upon your obvious default of our agreement. Over nine months ago, I happily agreed to lease you a prime womb in our house, with the understanding that you would only stay for 9 months or less. At the time, you implied you would probably be out of there around 8 and a half months. You were excited, we were excited and we all happily signed on the dotted line.
You became a troubling tenant right away, what with your nauseating ways and tiring outbursts. But we persevered and knew that our time together was short and tried to make the most of it. You came around after a few months and started treating me a lot better. We had a great 4 months or so, and got along like old chums.
But then you began to act up again. Every night when I went to sleep, you would start your wild partying. There was so much dancing and bouncing around that I thought you were going to break dance right out. Your terrible drinking habits had me up all night running to the bathroom, checking in on you. And the bonfires you started late in the evenings left me desperate for relief.
As my kind husband reminded me, this lease was only for 9 months, and we were almost to the end, so I was able to pray my way through all your trouble making. But then your moving day came...and went...and you still remained.
I told you to vacate the premises, tried anything to get you to leave, and you wouldn't listen. That was a week ago. You are still here. You are now officially a squatter.
And so, my little squatter, I had to take some serious measures and get the higher-ups involved. It's official, you will be leaving your comfy womb on Friday. No more Mrs. Nice Guy.
Of course, if you want to truly make amends, and leave on your own terms, in a quick and peaceful manner before then, that would be happily accepted. Better start packing.
Your Tired Landlady