Each year I hang my mistletoe with the distant hope that perhaps, just maybe, there might be a slim chance that Mr. Wonderful will knock on my door while I’m tapping at the keyboard, and sweep me off my slipper covered feet.
I know, it’s crazy, but I’m absolutely convinced it could happen. Maybe I’d have to get asked out on a date first, but it could happen.
That’s the thing about love and lust and matter of the heart isn’t it? We hope, we dream, and we all want to be someone’s special someone.
Tonight I just about gave up all hope when I read a Yahoo news clip; Charles Manson was issued a marriage license, and the plan is to get hitched to some young twenty-something?
In my head I exclaimed, “Hellooooo? WTF?!”, and ” Are you freaking kidding me?!”
But then I thought about it, and I decided that there is still hope for me. After all, I’m just an amateur nut-bag compared to Manson. My eccentricities and extended single status are nothing compared with Manson’s brand of wacko. My mistletoe is waiting…
Dear Santa, Please send me someone to love….