Conference quark::human_relations-v1

333.0. "Please Move to FANTASY.NOTE" by NSG008::MILLBRANDT (Think Feisty) Sat Jun 27 1987 02:57

    Kind Author of note 331.15, could you please move the text below to
    FANTASY.NOTE?   DPLANE:: seems to be down right now.  This belongs in
    note 2, Fantastic Introductions, and I apologize if it is not up to the
    standards of the other entries.  Perhaps other noters who are having
    trouble accessing FANTASY can reply here with their own introductions.
    Thanks in advance! 
      					 	 - Dotsie


    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
      		     -< Scarlett O'Hara, A Woman Updated >-
    
    It all comes down to who we would like to be in our fantasy world:
    hero or sandwich, princess or pea, philosopher or bootlicker, fisher
    of men or four-star wiseass.
    
    I always wanted to be Scarlett O'Hara, but new and improved.  Of
    course.  Poor Scarlett, chasing the beaux she couldn't get and spurning
    those she did, what Scarlett needed was an inner sense of self-mockery.
    Then she'd know what a silly twit she was being.  That wouldn't
    stop her, of course, but far better to be a wry and crackers twit
    than no twit at all.  Also, that long dark hair would have to go.
    Red hair would seem to be called for.  They didn't name her Raven
    O'Hara, did they?
    
    One could also do without that pompous bookworm swish Ashley.  He could
    be replaced with Kyle, the curly-haired lined-face tanned man I met in
    Maine so long ago, to whom I promptly issued an invitation to come
    visit next time he happened to be in Rhode Island, only he showed up a
    mere two days later and I hadn't yet disposed of a previous live-in
    boyfriend.  Kyle eventually spent a year living on his sailboat...with
    someone else.  Scarlett would have known what to do.  She would have
    fainted, perhaps, or come down with a dangerous disease that would sap
    her life until Kyle, unable to tear himself from her side, promises to
    take her away if only she'd live.  At which point our heroine
    miraculously recovers. 
    
    Ah, all the men I've known but never loved.  All the men I've loved
    but never known, biblically speaking.  We could squeeze them all
    in somewhere.  Backseats of enclosed carriages traversing the streets
    of Atlanta while the driver rides exposed to the elements.  Soft mossy
    places behind the barn 'neath the watchful eye of Bessie, the family
    cow.  On the haystack, in the henhouse, on grand brandywine leather
    sofas, inside lavish embroidered canopied beds.
    
    "Miz Scarlett, I done brought you two moah mint juleps.  Dey's over
    heah on de nightstand."  "Thank you, Ursula."  Ursula is a very
    pale au pair from Sweden.  We aren't going to get into That.
    
    Boyfriends and lovers are just the fluff of life, of course.  And
    Scarlett didn't seem to have any girlfriends.  No doubt she stole all
    their beaux.  My Scarlett would have a friend of equally devious mind
    with whom to hatch plots - and, eventually, swap husbands when things
    got dull.  Heroine as she is, however, Scarlett cannot prevent the
    grimy finger of war from plucking the endangered wildflower of southern
    manhood.  Only the lame, the deaf, and the most scurrilous of male
    specimens remain.  Scarlett meets Bratt, troubadour and trouba-maker, a
    slightly stunted Jack Nicholson with a maniacal grin...but that is
    another chapter. 

    
    good one dotsie!
    
    this has been moved for you but don't delete it here.  This can
    get some good response from some members of this file, too
    
    who knows what's out there.