Dear Princess “Arlene,”

21 Sep

Poor little Arlene Randall. How can I resist opening your email? You were so vulnerable and and honest in your simple subject line.

I am so sad.

Arlene, I don’t want you to be sad. I know sad. Sad sucks. And even though I didn’t recognize your name, I wanted to lift your dark clouds of despair. Turn your frown upside down. How could Yahoo mail put this cry for help in my spam filter? Heartless Toads.

Dear friend,

Yes, Arlene Phillips! I am your friend. See, you have hope even in your sadness. We can get through this. I will help you.

Maybe you do not know who i am but i will introduce myself. I am … I think … let’s my name will be kept in secret. Let it be Princess.

Well… ok. I liked Arlene, but Princess it is. 

I am a little Princess. I am from Russia.  I am so sad. I am smart and nice princess but so sad at the same time.

A smart and nice princess? And you’re sad? Oh, now you’ve lost me.

What the heck is wrong with you, Arlene? I am a stay-home mom and freelance writer. I have dogs who shed and children who argue and bills that DO NOT PAY THEMSELVES, Arlene Phillips. I am not a smart and nice princess.  And you want to tell me about YOUR sadness? What on earth could be bothering a princess?

I would like to find handsome guy with whom we will have a nice life.

Oh, the Prince Charming, myth. We all want that, honey. But you need to love Arlene first. Stop moping and whining about how sad you are. Talk to someone about meds, snap out of it, count your blessings, do some volunteer work. Prince Charming will come along if he’s meant to.

I do not know what to do. I want to change everything in my life.

Oh, Arlene. Seriously. You are a princess. You’re probably blonde and thin, t0o. And yet, of all the email boxes in the world, you choose me to vent about your sadness and expect me to relate when you want to change everything in your life?  The whining is getting on my nerves. Let’s make a deal, Princess Arlene.  I’ll live in the castle you find so dreary, a tragic single existence with nothing to bring me happiness but hand servants who bring me chilled grapes.

You get your royal butt over here. The dog was spayed this morning, and she needs some pain medication. While she’s busy with that, maybe you can change the blankets she puked all over.

After that, Princess Arlene, you can do the dishes, pack the lunches for tomorrow, and solve the argument the children are having over who is the most worried about the dog. Can you do sutures, Arlene? Because it’s getting heated and they may draw blood. If not, go ahead and bring your royal paramedic. I won’t need him.

Hope you are good boy and can be my prince.

Uh, Arlene? Honey? Ain’t no prince at this email address. I’ve got a sweet husband, but he is not available to your highness.

Please, send a letter for me back when you get this letter cause it will make me feel better. I will not be alone. And perhaps we can be
good friends.

Arlene, consider this your letter, you poor, sad, smart and nice Russian princess. I can not help you. Nyet. I can’t. I do not believe I need any Russian Princess friends, and I am not the prince you’re looking for, of this I am sure. Everyone gets sad sometimes, honey.

But in case anyone else wants to help you, they can leave a caring comment for you. Bless your sad little royal heart.

5 Responses to “Dear Princess “Arlene,””

  1. LeAnn September 22, 2009 at 12:13 pm #

    That’s just so… sad.

  2. ingrid September 22, 2009 at 1:28 pm #

    Can you imagine? LOL!

    Hey, have I told you how happy I am that you’re blogging more? 🙂

  3. Elle September 23, 2009 at 6:40 am #

    So sad for the princess. *snort*

  4. That One Mom September 23, 2009 at 9:05 am #

    Unbelievable!! I’d be so sad, too… If I were her… Or not! WTH!

  5. RJ Flamingo September 25, 2009 at 5:16 pm #

    And you were afraid you would run out of things to write about this month!

    Yeah, I’d trade with Princess Arlene, too. And I’ll even throw in the snotty-nosed husband with a raging cold who had me running to 3 different stores looking for distilled water so he can run his little personal vaporizer and when I finally found some told me that “it really wasn’t necessary anymore” and wanted hot dogs for dinner.

    Oh. Did I say that out loud?

Comments are closed.

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