It's easy to be cynical about the emotional pain of a fictional character, but break ups are real, and they hurt. In our modern world, we are so afraid of feeling pain that we often choose to numb ourselves with drugs, alcohol, and meaningless sex. "Mary Worth and Me," however, embraces the pain. We accept it. We acknowledge it. And then we viscerate it. And we spread it all over our bodies in all its stenchy gore, and then we howl to the moon and dance the bw'hama ceremonial dance until dawn. Dawn? Did I say Dawn? Whaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!
And thank you, Carlye N. for your recent donation!!
5 comments:
See, folks, they had a talk and everything worked out just like Mary said it would -- except, you know, for the pain, sorrow, regret, tears, and depression.
-- Scottie McW.
Right, Scottie McW., it’s yet another instance of Mary knows best. That’s why she bakes every morning and just happens to have muffins, banana bread, etc. always available for the lost souls who need her aid.
After a recap tomorrow (maybe), will there be a new story, or will a sadder but wiser (maybe; she IS a Weston) Dawn visit Mary and thank her profusely for a week? There’s been no sign of Saul, Eve, and their dogs for a long time; let’s hope that continues.
Labor Day coming up and Dawn is alone...again.
Meanwhile, Wilbur is still sitting at the table talking about his failures. "...and then there was that time I tried to pickup a woman at the grocery store. She said her number was 1-800-kars4kids and so that's we have to take the bus now..."
Coming in hot:
A preview of tomorrow’s Charterstone Pool Party!
New tenants:
A blind Scotswoman, very attractive, who adores hearing the lilt of a Glaswegian accent spoken in a pompous manner
Her seeing eye dog, Hamish, a Rottweiler who detests all other dogs and most cats
Her son, Callum, a kilt-wearing drug dealer who keeps his merchandise at the ready, stuffed in his very large sporran
The guests:
Mary Worth with a fresh batch of Haggis muffins
Ian and Toby Cameron, with a flask o’ Auld Non-Tenured Professor, and a pitcher of Margaritas, respectively
Tommy, sans Babe, hoping to encounter someone his own age
Dawn, sans Jared, hoping to meet a new man
Wilbur, wearing sans-a-belt trousers, and hoping his Hawaiian shirt is long enough to cover his mayo gut
Saul and Eve, Greta and Max, all hoping to meet fellow dog lovers, and fellow dogs, respectively
Estelle, hoping nothing violent happens when Wilbur and Ian approach the buffet table simultaneously; and Libby hoping Dr. Jeff is there so she can offend someone new
Mr. Allora, with his camera at the ready, hoping to catch someone in the act of littering, or better yet, someone doing something blackmail-worthy
Mrs. Allora, hoping to see what the big whoop is about pool parties, and praying that Ian Cameron is not wearing his tartan Speedo
Special guests: Jared’s mother and stepfather, hoping to recruit fellow naked yoga enthusiasts
So who went home with unfulfilled hopes?
Mary: No one ate Mary’s haggis muffins.
Dawn: the only single man there was Callum MacGeordie, and he was chatting with Tommy the whole afternoon.
Ms MacGeordie, because Ian was too drunk to speak in his usual (phony) Glaswegian accent; besides, he’s actually from Dundee.
Wilbur, because Hawaiian shirts don’t come in that size.
Libby, because Dr, Jeff was, as ever, a no show ( Sorry, Mary, I can’t make it today, gotta ….wash…my…surgical scrubs, yeah, that’s the ticket! Don’t worry, dear, I’ve already set aside some muffins for you- in the Charterstone freezer locker, where they’ll stay until hungry zombies roam the earth).
Hamish, because Greta and Max were piddling little sissies whose owners snatched them up and ran home with them the minute he first curled his lip and bared his teeth. Although Hamish detested Libby at first sight, even he is not evil enough to pick on a one-eyed cat.
Mr. and Mrs. Allora because they left before Jared’s parents stripped down and cannonballed into the pool.
Estelle, however, found herself strangely attracted to Ms. MacGeordie and was suddenly reconsidering her life options (Ms. MacGeordie, do you like Karaoke? No? Well, how about organ music? Organ music? I adore it! Is that you I hear practicing on the tiny Mighty Wurlitzer upstairs? Ken ye play On the Bonnie Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond? No, it’ll have to be in my condo.)
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