Graphology

I received a packet of letters, clippings, and photos, all about me. They’re more flattering than compromising, nonetheless I feel violated. There’s no return address, but the front label’s handwriting's distinctive, even familiar, and so I go to an expert who, after a cursory exam, says the handwriting looks just like mine. “Absurd,” I reply, even after shown the near-identical loops, slants, lines. “And no forgery, either,” he continues, “though the packet’s contents probably are.” “Sir, you’re the fraud,” I exclaim. “Perhaps,” he sighs, removing his eyepiece, “we both are.”
I remove mine too. We glower at each other.