Dearest Francesca E. Thirty,
I cannot begin to express how heartbroken I was to have to let you go today. Although a bit rough around the edges, you were beautiful in your own way. From your bronzit paint (you were the blonde of your family) to your beautiful bright eyes… you lit up my world. The truth is, though, you just weren’t meeting my needs. You were two doors shy of perfection. It was an ordeal whenever we’d want to add a few extra people to the mix.
I know you were angry at me today for giving you up. You completely lost your cool and started hissing at me, in front of guests. I won’t hold it against you; I know you just needed to let off some steam, get the hot air out of your system. Yes, we had big plans together. I dangled them in front of you, then took them away and promised them to someone else. I gave you a new spring in your step, and then betrayed you.
I have to admit, after your little hissy fit, I was angry at you too. In fact, no more than an hour after you left, I took your big sister (Dorothy E. Thirtynine) out for a ride. Maybe I was curious. After all, she’s got better curves and wider hips. Not to mention you’ll never have airbags like that. She’s more accepting of extra friends, too. It was a nice, relaxed ride, not crazy rough like you. I think I enjoyed it.
Oh, who am I kidding… it was miserable, and I was thinking of you the entire time. Dorothy felt numb. I always communicated much better with you. You always told me exactly what you were thinking, even if it wasn’t pretty. Dorothy just stayed quiet and waited for me to get her somewhere. She needed “convincing” in order to do anything, whereas you just did it, at the slightest suggestion from me. I’ll still likely see her again, but only out of necessity. I’m only human, after all. I need to get places, too.
Your new man will treat you well. I’ve seen it in his eyes. In fact, I think you might meet another blonde there… he likes them blonde, I guess. That’s right, you won’t be his one and only, probably not even his pride and joy. But be good to him and he’ll be good to you.
Farewell, Francesca.
Love,
Paul
I cannot begin to express how heartbroken I was to have to let you go today. Although a bit rough around the edges, you were beautiful in your own way. From your bronzit paint (you were the blonde of your family) to your beautiful bright eyes… you lit up my world. The truth is, though, you just weren’t meeting my needs. You were two doors shy of perfection. It was an ordeal whenever we’d want to add a few extra people to the mix.
I know you were angry at me today for giving you up. You completely lost your cool and started hissing at me, in front of guests. I won’t hold it against you; I know you just needed to let off some steam, get the hot air out of your system. Yes, we had big plans together. I dangled them in front of you, then took them away and promised them to someone else. I gave you a new spring in your step, and then betrayed you.
I have to admit, after your little hissy fit, I was angry at you too. In fact, no more than an hour after you left, I took your big sister (Dorothy E. Thirtynine) out for a ride. Maybe I was curious. After all, she’s got better curves and wider hips. Not to mention you’ll never have airbags like that. She’s more accepting of extra friends, too. It was a nice, relaxed ride, not crazy rough like you. I think I enjoyed it.
Oh, who am I kidding… it was miserable, and I was thinking of you the entire time. Dorothy felt numb. I always communicated much better with you. You always told me exactly what you were thinking, even if it wasn’t pretty. Dorothy just stayed quiet and waited for me to get her somewhere. She needed “convincing” in order to do anything, whereas you just did it, at the slightest suggestion from me. I’ll still likely see her again, but only out of necessity. I’m only human, after all. I need to get places, too.
Your new man will treat you well. I’ve seen it in his eyes. In fact, I think you might meet another blonde there… he likes them blonde, I guess. That’s right, you won’t be his one and only, probably not even his pride and joy. But be good to him and he’ll be good to you.
Farewell, Francesca.
Love,
Paul
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