Travel down the road, and back again

Dear Betty White,

You probably think this is pretty strange that I am writing to you. But maybe not. You probably get mail all the time. I get mail too. If I got mail from me I would think it was strange too. If I got mail from you I would think it was shocking, but I would be very excited to read it. Pending the contents, either way I would be very satisfied that you knew who I was, let alone my mailing address.

I hope you are happy to receive mail from me. Since we are on the topic of mail, the other day I came home to find a small package on my doorstep, from Amazon.com. I didn’t order anything from Amazon.com. In fact, I don’t spend any money on anything that isn’t rent, car insurance, student loans, gas, slurpees, or credit card payments. This is because of my current financial situation, which is, in other words, a timely money circumstance.

People look out for me, though. I have a great family; don’t ever let anybody tell you that I don’t have a great family, Betty White. In particular my oldest sister, who knows how to take care of me in ways I don’t realize I need taken care of.

She had sent me the package. The Golden Girls, Season Two.

Elation! Fresh on the heels of my receipt of Season One.

When the show actually ran, in the eighties, my mom forbade us to watch it. Perhaps it was the sexual innuendo that was too racy, or the suggestion of elderly intercourse was too frightening. But once I went to college and had cable and the Lifetime Network, I watched the show all the time. Constantly. (My apologies to my oft-forgot french class).

The Golden Girls was perfectly written, perfectly acted, and very much appreciated by me, for one. I am trying to make sure other appreciate it too. Don’t worry.

Hey, you know when you laugh and laugh at something until your stomach hurts (like pretend you saw somebody fall out of a chair but not get hurt), and you laugh and laugh and laugh, and then everybody is stopping laughing and makes a sound to let out their last laughing sound, like yeeeehhhh. They tilt their head and grin when they say it, usually it’s one of the only times a ridiculous grin is acceptable. At least that’s how I do it. I cant presume to know how you do things, Betty White.

Anyway, watching the Golden Girls has a calming effect on me that I cannot explain. From the instant the airplane flies in front of the sunset and the cheerful singer thanks me for being a friend, until the last joke that freeze frames the cast (sometimes), I have that yeeehhhh feeling. It is a good feeling. I am getting premature laugh lines, and although i claimed that the anti-aging cosmetic industry would never make a dollar off of me, I am having second thoughts.

I am writing to you Betty White for two reasons. One, I would like to say that in Season Two, the episode “Forgive me, Father,” your delivery of the line “He’s a priest, isn’t he?” is comic perfection. I show that part of the episode to friends. Genius.

Secondly, do you think a hug would be out of order?

Well, I would never be able to forgive myself if I took up more of your time. Thank you for everything. Enclosed is a coupon for one free hug, redeemable anytime.

Sincerely,

Christine

C.C. B. Arthur, R. McClanahan, E. Getty