Dear Jarvis

I think it is time we have a word, you and I. See, when you decided to move in, sometime during the fall, I must admit I was not paying attention.

I don't remember agreeing to you even entering the premises. You were discreet, never said a word. There were countless occasions where you could have made your presence known. You could have sent a small signal, a little pain, a little pull, a little alarm.

No. You came in, and just made yourself comfortable, in this very small tiny corner of my body, where the sun doesn't shine.

You ate what I ate, you drank what I drank. How was the wine?

When the time came to behave as any other well-behaved cell population and die your noble death, you decided not to. You decided to multiply and colonize.

I was not asked. I was not told.

When the good doctors tried to shine some light onto you and see where you are, and how much of a mess you made, you decided to hide.

Luckily, at that point, I was paying attention. That is why I know you are there. We saw you once, and then we saw you again. But you are an elusive fellow.

They say you are one of the most devious and aggressive there is. Why did you pick me?

This letter is to tell you that this is not going to work out, you and I.

You must have noticed that lately the ambience in Colette's Motel is not what it used to be. When is the last time you had some good sugar for example? Not the best brunch buffet, right?

You must understand, I decided to evict you. So I am working at making the whole place inhospitable to you.

Sure I miss my sweets, my wine, my pastries as much as you do. But I will not blink first. You will. I will starve you.

What do you think of last week's menu? Broccoli sprouts and mushroom powder, crushed in a smoothie of kale, ginger and turmeric? Yum....

You are welcome to leave if you don't like it.

What about the apricot kernels, rich in cyanide, I sent your way three times a day?

What about the long fasts, the bitter teas, the supplements?

By the way, thank you, I lost 20 lbs, and finally I can wear my camo jean's again.

You officially have two weeks to leave.

In two weeks, a nice grandpa-looking doctor named Armando is going to slice me open top to bottom, and take you out. Armando is nice and ruthless, he will kill you. He will scrape you out, bit by bit, from every corner. He will scrub every memory of you. You will be no more.

And the Queen will still be here, with a new scar to tell the tale.

And you know what? That scar will eventually become a beautiful tattoo.

You were never welcome, and you can still leave on your own terms.

Find yourself a different host, Jarvis. Preferably a war criminal, a terrorist or a serial killer, someone who will really deserve you.

The Queen has spoken.