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The Sad Boy Keeps His Promise

“What do you care? This is my family.”

The Sad Girl looked at her Father quizzically. She looked at her Baby Sister bitterly posed behind him. Then at the Woman with the Rock in her Shoe, who stood silently by, fascination playing on her face as if she were watching a scene from a movie play out in real time.

And once again the Sad Girl was confused.

As the Sad Girl left, she closed the door on the catchphrases- Neurotic-Crazy-Liar.

She thought her Father was just being cruel.

When she told the Sad Boy and her Favorite Sister, they echoed the sentiments of cruelty and added thief. The Sad Girl had asked for a notebook of her work that she left in their care detailing family history.

It was 2 years later, while putting ancestors in a picture frame that the scene replayed in the Sad Girl’s head.

She called the Sad Boy. “Holy shit! What if he meant that he wasn’t my father?”

And in that moment, science began to catch up to the lies.

 

 

He landed at John F. Kennedy Airport in New York on November 4, 1988. His long hair curled over the collar of his faded brown leather jacket as he walked out of Customs and into New York. Black boots and jeans complimented the serious expression on his face as he scanned the crowd for the Sad Girl. Maybe he worried that she wouldn’t be there.

The Sad Girl stood at JFK International Arrivals with her Favorite Brother-Law waiting for the Sad Boy. She was in a beautiful outfit borrowed from her Favorite Sister’s closet; Her Favorite Brother-in-Law in his mechanics clothes with a greased smudged face.

An eternity passed. “What if he didn’t arrive?” her mind whispered. But her heart, her heart knew he would. With her entire being, she knew he would.

She spotted the Sad Boy. She could barely breathe. Every step brought him closer to her. He saw her. Instantly the smile curled the sides of both their mouths. Their eyes locked on each other as they beheld forever and a day.

He kissed the Sad Girl on both cheeks in a traditional Italian greeting. She enfolded his hand in hers. She just needed to touch him. He tightly held on to hers as she introduced her Favorite Brother-in-Law.

In the car he handed her back her Teddy Bear.

Her Favorite Brother-in-Law turned to her and with a twinkle in his brown eyes, his mustache turned up in an approving smile exclaimed, “So, I see you went for the pretty face. I thought you were gonna go for the money!”

He should have known the Sad Girl better than that! You can’t sleep with a man’s bankbook wrapped around you.

When she arrived home with the Sad Boy, they were greeted by her Mother and Father, her Favorite Sister and her three girls, her Youngest Sister and her Grandmother.

The Sad Boy came with many gifts. Among them a beautiful wide band 18 carat Italian gold engagement ring with a diamond in the center for the Sad Girl. Both of her parents gave the ring the eye.

In later years, her parents said to her “…and he didn’t even buy you a real engagement ring and if you think that diamond was real…” They did not understand that the ring was worth just as much as any of her sisters’ rings and probably more. Moreover, the Sad Boy had selected it for her; it came with all his love. It was not a standard American engagement ring because the Sad Boy was not an American man. The Sad Girl did not want a typical American man- her parents did not know that. They still don’t comprehend the Sad Girl.

The sitting room was converted into a bedroom for the Sad Boy.

Her father asked the Sad Boy if he intended to marry the Sad Girl or if he was just in America on a vacation. The Sad Boy declared that he intended to marry the Sad Girl.

A Blog and a Dream

Dear Tatiana and Marcus,

It has come to my attention that your current blog at Wilhelmina needs help. As I couldn’t find it on the home page, I thought you might be in need of a blog writer to help you.

For the past year I have been blogging at https://blueeyedblonds.com/2015/06/12/the-sad-boy-and-the-sad-girl-continued/. I have 458 followers and growing with every blog post.

Below you will find what I hope will be the first installment of your new blog.

If you like it and would like to discuss having me blog for Wilhelmina, I can be reached at  annamariecoticelli@gmail.com

I hope you are enjoying your summer!

AnnaMarie, also known as Goldilocks and Filomena’s Mom

BLOG MAKEOVER

By Blue Eyed Blonds of a Certain Age

The Sad Boy and The Sad Girl, continued

Everyone knows two types of people- the one who will say you look great no matter your poor fashion choices, and the one who will tell you to change your outfit because large Hawaiian flower print is not becoming on you.

The first type of person feels threatened and wants to look better than you. They will let you walk out of the house looking less than your best. The worse you look, the better they look.

The second type loves you enough to tell you the truth.

How important are your fashion choices?

Take for example the magnificent beauty Sophia Hellqvist. Have you seen how beautiful she looked as she married her Prince Charming Sweden’s Prince Carl? The dress, the make-up, the jewelry, the flowers were all to perfection. The love is shining on both of their faces. And there, on the 9th picture down, as Prince Carl struggles with the wedding ring, the Daily Mail photographs her neck tattoo.

Where were Sophia’s friends? Oh, there they are keeping her company in the tattoo parlor and smirking behind their hands because they could foresee photographers would just focus on the wearable art and not on her elation as she married the love of her life.

At least it wasn’t a freakin butterfly or a cluster of Chinese characters that no one understands.

I hope the generic compass rose tattoo has pointed poor Sophia into the direction of better friends. I wish both Sophia and her Prince Charming a lifetime of enchantment in each others arms. Hopefully she will never ask her friends for relationship advice.

The current age, is a Shakespearean fantasy. “All the world’s a stage” with digital photography and the internet cataloging your every fashion triumph and misstep.

I had very long hair at the age of 20. After a life altering emotional incident, I cut it to shoulder length.

When I went into the Italian restaurant I worked at, the owner’s cousin, who was a hairdresser, said to me with a frown on his face, “Who did that to your hair? Come into my salon tomorrow. I have to fix it- no charge because you are a beautiful girl but the hair has to change.”

Now that’s a true friend.

When my sister Lovelilly and I walked into the salon the next morning, he was not there but his portly Neapolitan father was.

He said in his Italian accented English, “My son-na got-ta little drunka last night. He’s a not a comin in. He didn’t-a do that to a you hair did he?’”

At this point Lovelilly puts on her best Italian accent and says, “Your son-na no give-a her thata haircut.” You could just hear the smirk in her voice as she took stock of the old man.

His son was at home on his knees worshiping the Porcelain God but he didn’t care. He looked up to heaven and made the sign of the cross thanking God that his kid was not responsible for such a bad haircut.

He said “AnnaMaria do you-a trust me?”

Many people in my life had just finished spectacularly proving they were not trustworthy. I said “Go ahead, Marcello, do what you want.”

He wet my hair with a spray bottle. No, he didn’t wash it. Put a cape on me and turned the chair away from the mirror.

He pulled out his scissors, no comb, and his hands began to fly faster than Edward Scissorhands.

I watched Lovelilly watching him. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes grew wide in horror.

I saw 8 inch pieces of my hair landing on the salon floor. I didn’t care. I was sunk in a deep depression and the hairdresser knew it.

He was done cutting in less than 2 minutes. As I was moussed and dried, Lovelilly’s face broke into a smile. “It looks fabulous,” she said.

When the chair was turned and I looked in the mirror, I did indeed look fabulous!

One haircut put confidence back in me. I may have felt sick at heart, it might have taken a few decades to heal, but on the outside I looked beautiful.

That haircut, on the cutting edge of fashion, was the first step that led me away from the edge of sorrow. By the way, 6 months later Madonna had the same hairstyle.

I have the words, Lovelilly has the fashion sense. Together we are Blue Eyed Blonds of a Certain Age.

We invite you to come with us as we go shopping for some new words to bring this blog into the 21st Century. We hope you enjoy it.

Goldilocks