Pamela Darling

Dear Pamela darling,

Oh joy!  I am getting married!  You’ll never believe how it happened!

I first set eyes on handsome Smolden Farlington, world renowned British row-boat archeologist, whilst he was boating down the Thames in his luxury yacht, Diana Who? a hand-me-down from Prince Charles himself!

I just happened to be sailing by in the opposite direction — seated coquettishly in my restored, side-seat, sculling rowboat (once belonging to King Richard III) — with Hargrove and Mabel – a couple whom I had recently hired to be my traveling companions and a couple whom, I might also add, were proving themselves to be excellent rowers!

But perhaps I should back up momentarily lest I confuse you, Pamela darling.

As you know, my name is Elizabeth Plinkton.   But I never told you that I am the Elizabeth Plinkton – of the famous hair-comb-empire Plinktons!  My great-grandfather, Sir Randolph Plinkton, having invented the comb with the tapering teeth from large to small — yes, Pamela, darling, just like the one you currently have in your bathroom drawer right now!

In fact, I’m so rich I’m nearly a freak, Pamela! But alas, being exceedingly rich makes one want to die from shear boredom.  You’re lucky you’re poor, Pamela, darling, for restoring historic rowboats as one’s only purpose in life turns out to be rather dull I’m afraid.

Which is why I had just slipped gently and quietly into the water – unbeknownst to Hargrove and Mabel — to end my life when, at that precise moment, Smolden Farlington and I passed each other like two ships in the night and our eyes met – his peeking out from beneath the bill of his borrowed captain’s hat and, mine – peering through the murky waters of the Thames.

Oh Pamela, darling!  It was love at first sight!

I shall be married Sunday next, Pamela, darling!  I would dearly love your presence- but, alas, you’re much too poor to invite– a fact that nearly breaks my heart but not quite.

Yours ever,

Elizabeth

Until next time . . . I love you