Stef Is Writing

Dear Dolores,

Me again! Listen, thank you so much for your words from last week. I actually did do what you said and I told my boss that if she was going to keep promoting me to at least not put it in the newsletter as it is just really upsetting for people who have been there much longer than me. And she agreed, but with a tear in her eye at my humility because she said she was just going to really ‘miss giving me my flowers’ and then we hugged it out and then she cried some more and did that ‘we’re not worthy’ thing from Wayne’s World which I thought was actually just a meme not a film, so she explained that and then I laughed and she laugh-cried and we hugged again.

And now I’m the boss! Yeah weird, I know. Sucks to be me.

But this is kind of my problem – like how do I cope with an embarrassment of riches – because – and don’t take this the wrong way – an embarrassment of riches can weigh just as heavy as an embarrassment of shitness. In many ways, I think. Compliments, promotions, free dinners just seem to land on me like snowflakes on my alpine terrazza during the winter season, or like carnival beads raining down on me on my float during – well – all the time. Whenever I’m on my float, really. Which is a lot – because people just love to see me on there for some reason!

It is getting really difficult to keep awkward grinning and smile-commiserating with friends who remain loyal to me despite how hard it must be for them too! But this is about me – how can I manage all this good news?

Can you imagine? I guess you can’t.

Yours,

Stefania

Hi there Stefania,

Thanks for the missive. I’m actually writing on behalf of Dolores, in my capacity as her assistant, editor, personal trainer, guru and meal-prepper and now, it would seem, as bearer of her bad news.

I’ve been working on my euphemisms -‘otherwise engaged’, ‘gone travelling’ – but I feel like you deserve the truth.

Dolores has disappeared. I was in the shed prepping a ragu when I heard a blood-curdling scream from the porch sauna where she retreats to read her problem post. Thinking she might have thought she had missed her game shows again (and thoroughly prepared to explain how ‘catch up’ works, yet again), I was dismayed to find her standing in the fishpond, naked, her eyes glazed.

Before I could gather my thoughts, words or even a tank top for modesty, she muttered one word. It was said with wonderment, like she had just unveiled an archaeological gem – but equally with venom – like she had just unveiled an archaeological gem that disproved her entire theory on archaeological gems.

And that word (before I write archaeological gem again – dammit) was ‘bitch’.

Then she stepped out of the pond and headed out beyond the cul-de-sac into the forest.

The reason I am sharing this with you because the only thing that she took with her, what she was reading when she left, was your letter. Huh. I know this because you always use that lovely lavender pen, don’t you? I would recognise that ink and that cursive anywhere. Was that something that you perhaps said? Round these parts there are wolves, wells and weirdos. I am frankly frantic – franktic – with worry.

Funny to ask the ‘problemer’ for help, but it is where we are.

Yours

Bunty.

Shared with bravery – an unedited first draft