Thursday, June 18, 2015

We Are Not Amused

Lady Darley is a patient soul. But on the 16th of April, 1990, her patience was reaching a limit, as she cranked out four letters to my one. She dipped her pen into the poison well.
Hi ya!

Now young man, if you don't want to write to me could you just come along and tell me. I must admit that I would like to write to you, but if you don't want to anymore then I'm not going to hold you to it.
I never explained to Lady Darley that men don't write letters. Even those men who do like to write. And even in 1990, computerized bulletin board systems were taking a lot of my correspondence. The written, or even typed, came a distant second, especially when so many of those words were going into research papers and book reports and homework. After all those words poured out of me, the well was either running dry or I simply wanted to turn off the spigot.
Well I'll tell you some more about myself and what I have been doing since I last wrote. Well as I can probably remember I told you that I was working a lot of my holidays getting money for America. I've got my airfare, insurance, bus fare and for my clothes. I've only got my pocket money to save so maybe I'll be visiting America when I want to after all. I hope it is worth all my effort. I've taken about two hours solid talking to my parents and my sister, and my endless hours spent at the cafe working my [bleep] off. So I'm sure all the fuss will be worth it, aren't you?
Just several months prior, your humble servant was toiling his [bleep] off at a McDonald's in Raytown, the place I said I didn't want to be, but the only option I had open to me after so many other job prospects went sideways. I had just bought that Amiga 500 computer that I probably didn't need, but it was a steal at the price I paid for it with all the stuff I got with it, and now I needed to replenish a $1000+ chunk of my bank account. So I toiled.
Did you tell, no, I mean did I tell you about my little argument I had with a friend of mine called [Laurie]? For awhile we got on really well, but just lately we've been having so many arguments. Well on the last day of term, my other friend and me were talking about an intellectual topic like the poll tax. She asked why we were talking about that. I think I'd got out on the wrong side of the bed as usual. I snapped at her again, saying something like, "What are you going to do, it's nothing to do with you anyway?" She replied something equally as nasty. And I came out with your "nasty tempered, pig-faced [bleep]." So to cut on obvious story short we [bleep] each other off all day until, when my bad temper got the best of me and I went up her and said. "Can't you take a joke dear or haven't you got a sense of humour?" She was not amused as you can probably imagine. But I'm afraid I could only laugh. Sounds really pathetic, doesn't it?
It seems like typical teenage girl drama to me, speaking from hindsight, because I sure as shooting couldn't figure that one out when I was her age.
Well I've been trying to write this new story of mine. I don't think it would really be your kind of thing. I have tried to decide what type of things I write about and they all seem rather melodramatic. This one's about a mother deserted by her husband left with four children to look after. He went off to find work after being made redundant, promising to come back and never did. I write it from my point of view as the youngest of all four children and the only girl. Sounds a pretty bad idea, doesn't it?
"Redundant," by the way, is polite British English for the cruel reality of being laid off. Lady Darley writes what she knows, if not in physical reality, most certainly in emotional reality. When emotions drive our stories, they can either be extremely powerful or messy dirges. Since I never got to read that story, I couldn't tell her one way or the other.
Well a lot of my holiday has been spent working in the cafe. It's o.k. But sometimes it can get a bit tedious and I can get really fed up. I enjoy it when I'm there but sometimes it gets really bad. On Bank holiday Monday, I worked with [Redacted] and a girl called [Redacted]. She was o.k., but she took over my job and I was left doing the washing up. But I managed even if it was with a face like thunder.

Do you know any of your friends, the male variety, who want an English penfriend? Two of my friends want an American penfriend. If they do, will you get them to write to me addressed to either:

[Laurie] c/o [Lady Darley]
[Abby] c/o [Lady Darley]

If you know someone who's really nice and wants a penfriend, then send them, I mean tell them, to write me.
Lady Darley is looking for an exit strategy. She is perfectly prepared to toss me aside for another man, although she's not going to come out and say it because she's too politely proper. And yet, she's subtly direct...
This is another big subtle hint about what happens on my birthday? I get presents from friends you know, people who like me. I'm having money and clothes as gifts.

Well, I can't actually think what else to write to you as I haven't had anything back from you.

Write Soon,
Lots of Love,
[Lady Darley]
Huuuhhh boy. What am I going to give to this girl? I guess I could start with a letter...

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