Do you remember the song from that old ring game : I sent a letter to my love, & on the way I dropped it. One of you has picked it up and put it in your pocket.
I remember sitting on the floor, part of the ring, praying I would not be touched on the shoulder, have to leap to my feet and chase after the girl running away from me like the wind. If I touched her before she claimed my vacant spot, then she remained “It”. If she was quicker than me, and plonked down into my vacant spot, that left me as “It” for quite a while. My fat little legs weren’t much use to me on these occasions.
So not all letters bring joy and pleasure to the recipients. As can be seen from the following imaginary ‘Dear John’ letter. I wonder if people still send ‘Dear John’ letters or whether they give rejected lovers the old heave-ho via a brisk text message on their Blackberrys? Or maybe the public humiliation of a few lines on Facebook? Or perhaps a chilly e-mail and addition of the exe’s name to their Blocked Send list on Outlook Express? Whatever the means, the message remains the same : get lost, it’s over !
I’m very disappointed that you won’t come to the Palace to see me dance before the King at his formal birthday banquet. Anyway, the Lord Chamberlain told me they would send you an invitation you couldn’t refuse – it was a bit strange, I didn’t really understand what he meant.
I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss about my dancing with the veils, there are seven of them as you know perfectly well, and the last one is not completely see-through, like you said. Maybe it is a little bit, but not completely see-through : you always exaggerate! I wish you could support me in my artistic career, but you never even want to discuss it, you always just start shouting and waving your arms and running back to that silly old desert.
And while we’re on the subject of the desert, I must be honest and tell you I just hated that picnic you took me on last week. I don’t think you have any idea what a picnic is supposed to be. It certainly does not include a whole day under the boiling sun trekking through the desert to the river. Why couldn’t we have spent a day relaxing in the shade in the date groves? And as for eating honey and wild locusts for lunch! (They were disgusting, by the way). I still can’t fathom out why you dragged me into the river and kept dunking me under the water – you completely ruined my new blue robe and it took me a week to get all the yucky river stuff out of my hair. Really John, what were you thinking? Not to mention all that strange stuff you were ranting on about – I had water in my ears at the time, so I didn’t hear much of it, but I blame it all on that weird cousin of yours from Nazareth. I wish you wouldn’t listen to him. Mum says he’s dangerous and should have stayed at home and helped his dad with the carpentry. And for once I must say I agree with her.
So John, I think you will agree, we are simply not suited to one another, we have very different ideas about life and what we want to do.