“With all of the hatred and violence women are faced with, among the countless atrocities happening in the world today, I ask you to simply take a long, hard look at yourself,” Danielle wrote.

Now obviously, Arj, since you and I are kindred spirits on this matter, I read that and decided I’d better take a long, hard look at myself instead.

So, I did. Other than establishing that I needed an urgent eyebrow wax, I came up with the same opinion: you were entirely justified in throwing Trish out, and I have no idea why you didn’t slap a lifetime ban on her in the process.

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Motherhood is life-changing and wonderful and isolating and euphoric and lonely and brilliant and terrifying and gratifying and hard and easy and gross and beautiful. You lose yourself for a while. You come back changed. But the metamorphosis – just like the decision to have children in the first place – is yours alone. Once you step out of your front door, you have to make all sorts of decisions about what venues are appropriate for a “not super whingey” seven-month-old. Hint: If the ticket site says the Arj Barker show is “strictly age 15-plus”, which it did, that’s a condition of entry, not grounds for affirmative action legislation. Trish should assume her new daughter is more than welcome to attend, provided she’s successfully been weaned and has a free weekend in September 2038.

Back to you, my darling Arj.

I know I started this column with a declaration of my undying love and fidelity, despite having never met you, which I accept has a passing whiff of eau de romance scam about it. As such, I think we should probably meet in person. I’ve just realised you’ve scheduled more shows in August, so I’m booking tickets as we speak. There’s only one minor hiccup in that my sister is going away then, and I’ve agreed to look after her treasured cockapoo for a couple of weeks. Just FYI, the dog (who you’ll totally love, I promise) can’t be left with strangers because she gets diarrhoea when she frets. Also, she needs her anti-anxiety meds hand-massaged down her oesophagus at regular intervals by a crack team of soothing mantra-chanting dog whisperers. Oh, and she sometimes gets triggered by conjunctions, so if you could just be a love and deliver your entire performance without using the words “for”, “and”, “nor”, “but”, “or”, “yet”, or “so”, everything should be peachy. You won’t even know she’s there, I promise.

Looking forward to meeting you, Arj! Can hardly wait!

Michelle Cazzulino is a Sydney writer.