I received a Dear Jane letter. Not from my husband, not from my lover ( that would also be my husband), not from some crazed spammer. It was from a former friend. We were friends briefly, then the fun and hilarity that sprung up quickly faded almost as quickly. She was cold and distant. I thought 'what the hell'? I had other friends and I got over it or whaddevah and moved on. Years passed. I continued to be friends with my friends - Becca, Chrystal, Doctor, Cutie, among others - and my children grew, etc etc. Suns rose, moons rose, zits came and went.
Then one morning last week, sitting with the coffee Ball & Chain makes me, was a gray envelope, clearly from this woman. We'll call her Egomania S. New-Heights. She actually has a very Austen-esque name, so we could call her Penelope, which sorta cracks me up - but I'll decide later. The letter, over which B& C was drooling a bit, as he is a yente (Jewishe busy-body) inside a WASP body, was addressed in a stylized cursive. How quaint. A letter! I was too bleary to imagine why this person would write me now, but apparently B& C thought it would be a rapproachment of sorts - how Penelope-ish - or something similarly juicy.
She said she had pondered our relationship from all sorts of angles. Out of her ass perhaps? And she felt she owed me an explanation as to why she had "dumped" me. I was genuinely perplexed. Dumped me? Angles? I, the ruminator of all ruminators, worrier extra-ordinaire, had not given a thought to this woman in years. Our friendship was brief, she became unpleasant, I had other fish to fry. She went on to say that she had begun to feel critical, and to her, "that meant death to a friendship." See what I mean about the Jane Austen part? Okay, maybe more Carol Burnett? Remember when Carol came down the stairs, a la Scarlett O'Hara, wearing not only the drapes, but the curtain rod across her shoulders? Her forte was laughing at melodrama, and of course those bulging crazy-eyed expressions.
Penelope went on to wish me well and make reference to my witty personality or something. She broke up with me and we were not going out! I was offended, I started to be angry, and then I realized how funny it is to receive a break-up letter from someone you never think about. In fact as I write this, I cannot help laughing a bit because here is one issue I really did not consider. What to do with the actual letter? Keep it to make petty and vindictive remarks? No fun, really, as I have no pent-up feelings of revenge, as I do not think of her. After an intimate discussion with B&C - about 10 seconds - I took his advice and threw it out. If it were the Carol Burnett Show, I would have had to light it with a match while Harvey Korman emitted an evil laugh. Or at least I could have found the several gifts she had given me and angrily tossed them. I like the stuff, though, so I am keeping it.
How I would eat up a letter from the guy with whom I was engaged and broke it off; the friend who never returned my letter after we argued over politics; any former female lover; the childhood frenemy who led the girl group to shun me with evil little notes about my awful hair and face. Or my long-lost pretend uncle who always adored me from afar (when he dies I will inherit pretend money - a lot of it)? So many people about whom I dream, wonder, and consider after lo these many years. But Penelope aka Egomania? She's not even a post-script in my imaginary autobiography. Perhaps this is at least one person out there who over-thinks even more than me? Or - a more realistic theory - did not watch enough Carol Burnett to know when something is downright silly.
