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Wednesday, 10 October 2012

image for My life as a man #20 My "Princess" had arms as I remember.

Today is the worst day of the rest of my life.

Yes, I know, it is supposed to be the first day of the rest of my life-at least according to the aficionados of fortune cookie philosophy. But not for me; I know I hit my romantic peak years ago. It's been all downhill since then.

You see, I let the BIG ONE go. She was exceptionally beautiful and unique. I knew her to be my singular chance for lasting happiness. I did everything I could do to win her heart.

I wrote her love letters and long poems, and sent them to her, one after another, for over three years. She did respond. She sent me return letters, and, yes, even three signed photographs of her, one for each year of our budding romance.

Her name was Betty Anderson; but her family and friends called her "Princess." She was the daughter of, Jim Anderson. Her mother's name was Margaret. Her brother was James Junior, or "Bud," and her little sister (who was more my age, but not at all to my liking) was Kathy, or "Kitten."

Sadly, our love was not to be. But it was, for once, not my fault.

Long distance romances suck and this one sucked royally! She lived a storybook life in faraway California. Her father was well to do, some sort of advertising executive. I was but a West Virginia hillbilly, the humble son of a humble, but honest, glass cutter.

The distance between us was far too great; the financial gulf and class distinction between our families was far too wide for our love to ever grow beyond the letter writing stage.

Inevitably, after three years, we grew apart and lost touch with one another.

Thing is, she never existed, except in the world of TV. She was a character on the top-rated family show of the 1950's and early 1960's: Father Knows Best.

You see, I grew up with television. And I fell in love with a TV character, an actress, just like John Hinckley fell in love with Jodie Foster (without the assassination attempt on the President, but the same obsessive love thing, kinda-sorta)…

Anyhow, I looked up my "Princess" today on the internet. I found out her name is really Mary Elinor Donahue.

Jesus Christ! The woman is even older than I am. She has 83 grandchildren. Where the fuck would I be now if she had fallen for me back in 1961? I'd be stuck with an old woman and 83 grandchildren, and a wife old enough to have played vaudeville, which she did, and is, no doubt, still too good for me.

Today is the best day of the rest of my life without my "Princess," Mary Elinor Donahue!

But hey, John Boy Walton's sister, Mary Elizabeth, still looks pretty good. I wonder if she still has the nekkid pictures I sent her back in 1985? I paid a guy $2500 for her home phone number. I still have it and her email address here somewhere.

I'm certain Mary Elizabeth Walton will be tickled to hear from me!

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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