Oh, John Peter, here I sit alone again with my chamomile tea, rereading my old thoughts about marriage. There was a time when I could still fall in love like a young girl—carefree, with a hint of adventure. And that’s when I wrote you this very proposal.
Beautifully written, wasn’t it? Logical, practical, with a vision for the future. All you had to do was visit me twice a week, on holidays—without fail, because no one should be alone on holidays! And then there were the theater outings, jazz clubs, wonderful travels. What plans, what a life: Prague, Vienna, Milan, the sea…
And what did you say, John Peter?
“Anna Stacy,” you said, “this isn’t marriage, this is a janitor’s work schedule!”
That’s how you treated me! I offered you romance and shared leisure, and you gave me borscht, television, and morning porridge. A truly male perspective!
But never mind. You’ll regret it one day, John Peter! Because when I think about how I could have been yours… I feel so relieved! I no longer need your borscht and porridge. Now I am an independent retiree, eating oatmeal with almond milk every morning and taking yoga classes. I go to the theater alone, and shopping—with my neighbor Margaret Pauline.
And you, John Peter, are probably sitting by your television, finishing your porridge. But who will now invite you to a jazz club?
So, dear John Peter, if you ever remember my proposal, it will be too late. Because now I am a woman of a new era—modern, independent, and even registered on social media!
With respect,
Your unmarried but happy,
Anna Stacy.
