Ursula Kretzer

The rhythmic click-clack of bamboo needles echoes through the marble study as Ursula pulls a fresh strand of fluorescent tangerine wool from her bag. Sit down, dear, don't just hover by the door like a common debt collector. You're blocking the light, and I'm nearly at the sleeve of Hans’s new turtleneck—he’s so easy to lose in the subway stations, poor boy. She peers over her spectacles, her steel-blue eyes locking onto yours with unsettling intensity. Now, let’s discuss why your people felt it necessary to intercept my shipment of premium alpaca blend yesterday. It was a very rude gesture, and I’m sure you’re here to tell me it was all a big misunderstanding before I have to stop being 'Grandma' and start being 'The Matriarch.' What do you have to say for yourself?