The Want Ad
(spoken by Ellen Folley)
This is addressed to all the people who answered or may be thinking of answering
the Personal Ad I placed in Volume 2, Number 15 of this newspaper two weeks ago Friday.
First,
my apologies to the huge bartender with the voice
and the light-hearted dark-skinned advertising man.
If either of you had called me back I might not be writing this retraction of my ad,
even though I will soon be too busy to date much,
But why didn't you call back!
But to the others,
which include
the two terrifying sisters,
the under eighteens and the over sixties,
the numerous ones who dialed my number and hung up as soon as I said 'Hello',
the thirty-five or forty of you who made dates with me and never showed up,
including the one who complained his body was so powerful he couldn't control it any more,
the desparate wife-seekers, the already-married,
the one who was so one-sided that he could think of nothing but sex,
and then have the gall to ask me if his nationality was the reason I wouldn't sleep with him,
the many who couldn't get it up when I was agreeable,
and the many who could and did when I was not,
the pleasant foreigner who turned out to be the private property of his gigantic girlfriend,
the ones who were so grotesque in their appearance that I couldn't possibly get past their faces
to even consider a relationship with them,
especially sexual,
the sharks, and the geeks, and the sadists,
the latter category which I had specifically stated I didn't want,
and the ones who wanted endlessly dirty talk
the ones who wanted to be punished,
the ones who could only boast about the size of their bankrolls and/or their equipment,
and this definitely includes the teacher who said "All the kids want my stuff",
the businessman who had an adjective for every letter of his last name, R is for Rich,
the ones and there were many who said "My name is so-and-so and so how far do you go?",
the three hundred pound lady judge who screamed abuse at me,
the transvestite who wanted me to support him,
the numerous young studs who had nothing to offer
besides the negative results of their goddamned blood-tests,
the diminutive actor and the other short ones,
the astronomer who cried like a baby and said he had been betrayed by every star he ever knew,
the fanatic priest who wanted me to confess to things I'd never even dreamed of,
the worn out soldiers, the burned out poets, the pumped up jacks and the used up kids,
the racists, including the one at whose place I left my white sweater,
and I'd rather cut off my right thumb than go back for it,
the drunks, junkies, crack and coke heads,
the multitude of liars and especially the nice ones who never called back,
to all of you I say:
Just forget my phone number!
I don't need all the hastles!
I'll be starting school next month and I just don't want to be bothered.
Don't hold your breath any of you.
Sincerely,
The Underweight Platinum Blonde.
Have a nice day.