Common Sense: A Blog by Mary Worth

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Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Toby vs. Mary Worth: Hand-to-hand combat.

The police came to interview me about the "intervention" we held for my poor Aldo before his sad, tragic death. Naturally, Dr. Ian, Toby, and Wilbur Weston insisted on being there too. The policeman knew my reputation for honesty, so he asked me all the questions, but the others kept interrupting him to twist the facts to make the "intervention" sound more like a friendly coffee klatsch. No doubt they are covering their asses, trying to get their version of the "truth" on record before Hal Kane and the rest of dear Aldo's relatives try to sue us all for intentional infliction of emotional distress and wrongful death.

Luckily for them, the police officer had a callous disregard for the life of my precious Aldo! "Oh well," his tone and manner said, "just another drunk driver." You could just tell that he was happy my angel Aldo was dead, so that he would not again have the opportunity to endanger innocent motorists.

The cold, cruel bastard!

Little did he realize that my tender Aldo bunny would never, ever have driven drunk if my friends had not so viciously abused him!

That dippy bitch Toby declared, "I can't believe he's dead!"

I shouted at her, "You heard what the police officer said, Toby! He's dead! Christ, what will it take to drive that fact into your thick head?"

Then I jumped up from my chair, and I shouted, "Your cruel intervention caused Aldo to drink! Drinking and driving lead to this tragedy!" I lunged at her, intending to claw her eyes out. That bitch killed my little Aldokins!

Naturally, Toby is in denial about her role in Snoogy-Woogy Aldo-Boogy's hideous death. As she tried to ward off my clawing finger, she attempted to direct the blame away from herself, wondering defensively, "But did our intervention push Aldo to drink?"

Like we don't know the answer to that question is, in her mind, a big fat NO.

But that bitch's day is coming. I vow this before you all: I will kill that golddigging whore for what she did to my little Aldo flower. My Aldo-Waldo honey pie deserves no less.

Monday, September 25, 2006

Time to place the blame!

Toby Cameron, Aldo's death is your fault! Many times I asked you, "Should I throw away my pristine reputation and give in to the temptations of the flesh? Should I cast off my respectable suitor in favor of an ardent lover?" And each time you said, "No! What would happen to Charterstone if you weren't there to serve as our flawless moral touchstone? What would happen to me, if you didn't need a gossip-collecting, power-walking sidekick anymore? Mary, you must resist! Scrape Aldo Kelrast off like dog doo from the sole of your jaunty little orthopedic ankle boot!"

Why, oh why did I listen?

But it is not merely Toby's fault! It is also her husband's fault. Dr. Ian Cameron's love of power made him so eager to assert his authority that he didn't stop to question whether an intervention was really necessary! And Wilbur Weston didn't care who got hurt--all he saw was another opportunity to dole out some of his pathetic, careless advice! And then there was his cousin, Hal Kane, who so recklessly sublet his condo to Aldo without bothering to make sure that Aldo's psyche was prepared to be in such close proximity to a woman of powerful charms such as myself! And I think it is no coincidence that my chaste paramour, Dr. Jeff Cory, left town just as Aldo Kelrast entered it! If he had stayed, Aldo might never have gotten the idea that I could some day be his!

But of course, the last ingredient in this poisonous stew was...me. Yes! For the last few months, Charterstone has been one big poisonous Mary Worth Stew. And, unlike my famous tuna casserole, that is one nasty concoction with a very bitter taste!

Oh, it was wrong of me to lead Aldo on! He was right! My words said no, but my looks, my tone of voice, my body language, the way I kept showing up in the Charterstone parking lot, the way I kept my phone number listed in the telephone directory--all these things screamed YES!

That day I brought him to my apartment--it was just the day before last, though it seems so long ago now--I knew he thought we were finally going to consummate our burning passion for one another! I saw the huge erection that was pressing against the front of his electric blue Sansabelt trousers! I should have predicted the crushing humiliation he would feel when, instead of candlelight and soft music, he found my living room full of angry neighbors!

Worst of all, after the intervention, I had that terrible premonition that Aldo would drive off a cliff and kill himself! I should have done something! I should have called the Santa Royale Mounted Police! They might have stopped him! But no--I had to sensibly pooh-pooh the idea that extrasensory perception might have some validity! And my Aldo paid with his life!

I have never felt such anguish! I would kill myself, except I am pretty sure I have counseled against suicide on past occasions.

Sunday, September 24, 2006

Oh God, what have I done?

The morning after the intervention, I agreed to join Toby on her power walk. I was wearing a very attractive sport suit in fire engine red. Toby looked uncharacteristically dumpy in a lavender purple sweat suit. We were in my kitchen, carbo-loading, when my telephone said, "Ring! Ring!" I answered it with my trademark greeting--"This is Mary Worth, how can I help you?" Because I help everyone, sooner or later.

It was a police officer on the phone. He said to me, "Mary Worth, we have a bit of a problem here. Do you know someone named Aldo Kelrast?"

I said, "Umm, yes, officer...he was in my apartment last night." I sounded guilty because I feel terrible about the way we treated my poor Aldo. But I'm afraid the officer thought my words and tone made it sound like we had been in my apartment alone, making hot monkey love!

I was about to correct myself when the officer said, "After he left your apartment, did you know he got in his car and drove away?"

I answered, "No, I didn't see him drive away. I got into the shower after he left, and after that, I had to do a load of bed sheets. I didn't have time to be looking out of windows." Then I cursed my words. Surely now he thinks I was cleaning up the effluvia left behind by an evening of hard, pounding vaginal intercourse!

Then the officer told me, "We found the wreckage of a car just off a cliff on the Santa Royale Scenic Highway. There was a man inside. The car had a Charterstone parking sticker on the windshield, which we could just make out amidst all the splattered blood and gore. Since he's from Charterstone, we figured we should contact you before we try to find his relatives and all that other business. Sounds like I made the right move, considering your...special relationship with him. I'm sorry, Mrs. Worth. Aldo sustained very grave injuries..."

I barely heard what he said next. I heard someone screaming, "What? Oh, no no no!" And, as my world faded into black and ecru hues, I realized that the person screaming was me.

The officer asked if he could come over to discuss the matter further. I agreed that he could, but I felt like a robot. I was numb and hollow inside. As I hung up the phone, Toby asked me what was wrong. And I had to tell her the truth--that my Aldo, my beloved Aldo, the man who wanted me more than life itself...that he's...he's...

I flung myself into Toby's arms, my whole being wracked with the agony of true love lost.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Fleeing from women and naysayers!

My dear friend Harold Horst called me up this morning to ask me out to lunch. Naturally, I told him no, and that it was best if we don't socialize too closely. Harold rather obtusely replied, "But we've been friends for 30 years! You gave the eulogy at my life partner Tim's funeral!" Men. They just don't understand the strict code we women must live by in order to preserve our reputations.

But I digress. Harold then told me, "I have some information that I know you would like to hear, Mary Worth!" And I said, "You know I don't like ugly rumors. The trouble with them is that they're usually true!" And Harold said, "Yes, well, this one is definitely true." And I said, "Oh, all right, I can see you want to tell me, so just get it over with."

Harold then told me that the other day--a few hours after the intervention the Camerons held for my Aldo--he saw Aldo Kelrast driving down Santa Royale Boulevard, "chug-a-lugging" Johnny Walker Gold Label whiskey. I said, "It wasn't Blue Label?" and Harold said no, it was definitely Gold Label. I wonder why Rita Begler reported him drinking Blue Label? I'm surprised she would get her liquors confused--no novice, that one! Maybe she was still feeling the effects of whatever the dentist dosed her with. Rita said it was powerful--and "tasty," though I don't see what that has to do with anything.

When I asked Harold why he didn't call the police and report Aldo for drunken driving, he said, "Well, he seemed to be driving just fine. He used his turn signal. Drunks don't do that." I said, "Well, my Aldo is a considerate man." Harold said, "He's an unusually skilled man, too. At one point, we were next to each other at a stoplight, and I saw him fixing a problem with his turn signal with one hand while he used the other to tip his bottle of Johnny toward his mouth."

Harold reported that next Mr. Kelrast rolled down his windows and started to beller at him. Some of you no doubt remember that Harold has a red convertible and likes to drive with the top down. Aldo shouted to Harold, "Do you know anyplace I can get away from all women?!" Harold shouted back, "Try Fire Island! It's lovely this time of year!"

Aldo seemed intrigued. "What about naysayers? Do they let any naysayers onto Fire Island? Because I need to forget about them, too." Harold assured him, "Fire Island is a very tolerant community. My dearly departed life partner Tim was fond of saying, 'Anything goes at the Fire Island Pines, even nude sunbathing.'" Then Aldo asked, "Will my love of revelry and levity be appreciated there?" Harold answered, "Fire Island is a party place. Anyone who likes to drink and joke around will fit right in."

Aldo said, "That's the place for me, then! Is it in Santa Royale?" Harold informed him that it is, in fact, in New York. Aldo then held up two bottles of liquor--his Johnny Walker Gold Label and his Bombay Sapphire gin--and scrutinized them before concluding, "These won't even last me to the state line!" Aldo said he was going to have to find another liquor store to stock up. He thanked Harold and drove off, screaming, "Fire Island or bust!"

I am very, very concerned for my Aldo. I want all of my friends and acquaintances to know that, if they see or hear of news of Aldo, they should call or write to me immediately!

Monday, September 18, 2006

Drowning his sorrows in gin.

I received a phone call from my friend Rita Begler this morning. She told me that she had been spending some time at the that newest branch of that chain of locally-famous liquor stores, Wines Liquors. When I asked her what an alcoholic was doing in a liquor store, she assured me that she was just helping her friend Petronella Wines put sale prices on all the inventory. She and Petty met in AA, and I guess Petty is having a hard time of it, seeing as booze is her family business. Rita swore to me that she had not had a drop to drink, even though Rotgut Rye whiskey is on sale for $5.99 a gallon.

Anyway, the point is that Rita saw Aldo Kelrast--my Aldo!--come into the store right after he left our intervention! She says he bought a bottle of reasonably priced Bombay Gin ($32.99 a bottle) and then asked if they sold "sippy cups" so that drinkers don't spill while they are driving. Petty Wines told him that they did not, and cautioned him that drinking and driving is a very bad idea, as she knows from personal experience. She showed him her artificial arm.

But my Aldo was not to be dissuaded! He told Petty to "put my gin in a paper sack, so the world will know that I'm a sad sack!" Petty and Rita expected him to stick out his tongue and laugh in the commonly accepted manner of those who are amused by puns and wordplay, but he did not display any signs of mirth whatsoever. He simply sighed and said he was going to enjoy his gin and drive around for awhile.

Rita reported that Petty then removed her artificial arm and waved her stump in his face, and cautioned him that he did not want to suffer the same phantom pains and taunts of children that she does!

Undaunted, my Aldo slapped down his $34.97 ($32.99 with tax) and went out to his blue Oldsmobile. Rita says that she and Petty were so depressed by the sight of a morose Captain Kangaroo look-alike driving drunk that they almost fell off the wagon. Fortunately, they caught themselves just in time, and went on a five-day "bender" of back-to-back AA meetings. On top of all that, you will be sorry to hear that poor Rita has had to have dental surgery. When I asked her why her speech sounded slurred, she told me it was because her "trick molar" was acting up again. I counseled her to get to a dentist right away. After all, one cannot take too good of care of one's teeth!

Oh, my Aldo! This is what I've driven him to! What was I thinking?!

On a positive note, now that my heart is broken and I spend every waking moment worried about my sweet, depressed paramour, I hardly have any licentious thoughts at all.

Friday, September 15, 2006

A lifetime of regrets.

That is what Toby and Ian Cameron's intervention has left me with. I will go to my grave in despair over what my friends have driven that poor, sweet man to do.

Apparently, immediately after their cruel little "party" at which Aldo was the "guest of honor," my admirer ran out of my apartment, got in his car, and drove away! He didn't even bother to pack his things, just left them in his cousin's apartment. He must have been under a tremendous amount of distress to do something so rash!

My friends are adamant that they did the right thing, but I am sure we could have handled it better. Who knew that my reckless, histrionic exaggeration of Aldo's actions, which made him out to be a vicious stalker, could backfire so badly?

I know this will make me sound like a whore, but maybe Aldo and Jeff and I could have worked out an arrangement whereby I would be allowed to go out to dinner with both of them. Jeff and I could continue to dine at "The Bum Boat," and then on the nights when Jeff has to work late, Aldo and I could have dined together at "Delicious Pursuits."

That sort of plan may smack of wanton slutitude, but obviously, as a widow of good standing and impeccable reputation, I would not be having sexual relations with either of those men--though, in one case, I might desperately want to!

Or, if that plan proved to be too modern for Jeff, we might at least have worked out an amicable arrangement with Aldo in which he might learn to stop meeting me in the parking lot at the end of the day. I read an article recently in the Clarion, written by a brilliant man named Michael Patterson. He said that, in dealing with a troublesome neighbor, he found it immensely helpful to divide the lobby with a line of masking tape. Perhaps the Camerons might simply have helped me divide the Charterstone parking lot in half with a masking tape line?

But we shall never know! I keep thinking that this whole thing might have ended less painfully. Now I am sure my Aldo is planning to do himself a harm! Probably he will drive his Oldsmobile off one of the cliffs on the Pacific Coast Highway. As his car smashes into a hideous lump of twisted steel, he will no doubt scream my name in agony. Oh, the humanity!

Monday, September 11, 2006

The Camerons chase my Aldo out of town!

With metaphorical torches and pitchforks, no less! Why not stone him too, while you're at it?!

::sigh::

I know my friends mean well. They want to save me from myself, save me from ruining myself all for the sake of a few fumbling, sweaty, fervid moments of sextasy.

But did they have to be so cruel to such a darling man? After all, what did he do that was so terrible?

I recognize my own part in this persecution. After all, I too recklessly exaggerated when I said I "never knew where he was going to turn up." After all, he really only met me once in my garden, two or three times in the parking lot, and called me up once on the phone. Now, if I felt nothing for Aldo, or only friendship, these acts would seem very like the actions of my other Charterstone neighbors.

But proximity to that man puts me in very grave jeopardy. I am at risk of throwing my inhibitions and my high-waisted panties to the wind and sitting on his face in an expression of unchecked passion!

I know he feels I betrayed him. I am so sorry his spirit and his heart have been broken. I wanted to cry when he spoke of his loneliness. I longed to take him in my arms and press his face to my bosom.

I wish it could have been some other way. But alas, I am a victim of my own perfection. I cannot tolerate a blemish on my public reputation, even if it means that I must suffer the deepest private anguish.

Oh, Aldo. I weep for what might have been.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Battle of the Titans.

As the more learned of you know, the Titans were a race of giants in Greek mythology, born of Uranus and Gaea, who ruled the earth until they were overthrown by the Olympian gods. The Titans were gigantic in size and power.

Obviously, my Aldo and Dr. Ian Cameron fit this description to a T.

The surprise that I had waiting inside my apartment was an intervention that my dear friend Toby had organized! She knew that I would never have the willpower needed to resist Aldo's carnal appeal, so she gathered up all of my friends to help protect me!

As we entered my apartment, Aldo cried out, "Oh Mary, how could you?!" My heart broke into a thousand pieces at that instant. I barely had it in me to close the door. Fortunately, Toby and her formidable husband took over. Toby announced that they were staging an intervention on my behalf!

Naturally, Aldo did not want anyone to come between us and our animalistic passion for one another. He insisted that he was going to leave! But Dr. Ian used his large, strong hand to grip Aldo's meaty bicep and insisted that he sit down. When Aldo refused, Dr. Ian rose up to his full, commanding height and struck Aldo powerfully upon the shoulder, insisting that Aldo sit down!

Watching two such attractive, substantial men face off in a physical fight caused me to know new heights of lust! A fantasy sprang unbidden into my mind, a most vile yet compelling vision of throwing myself between the two men, and having them turn their focus onto me, rending my garments and then throwing me naked into that chair, taking their turns using my body for their own wanton, filthy desires! I had never been more aroused in all my life.

Alas, the physical confrontation ended almost as soon as it began. My Aldo naturally did not wish to cause trouble. He is so obviously a man with a gentle, compassionate soul, no matter what vicious rumors are spread about him. He sank into the couch, across from me, and listened patiently as Wilbur Weston interrupted the heated emotional tension of this tableau with tedious and unnecessary introductions. I wanted to kick him in the shins for ruining the moment. Fortunately, Dr. Ian and Toby understood the dramatic potential of keeping the tone as confrontational as possible! They shouted at Aldo, telling him over and over in no uncertain terms that I did not want him to bother me anymore!

Of course it is a lie! Oh, I long to throw myself into Aldo's embrace and succumb to his filthy manly urges! Thankfully, I have friends who will save my reputation for me!

But Aldo--oh, my Aldo--he took it so hard. He pressed his fists to his forehead as he doubled over in anguish. You can see, I'm sure, that it's utterly ridiculous to believe that such a sensitive man could have murdered his wife. My Aldo is a lover, not a fighter.

More later.

Friday, September 01, 2006

Laying a trap for an unwary suitor.

I told you all the other day that I was inviting Aldo into my apartment to have a rational, sane conversation about the situation between us that is quickly becoming rather heated.

I was not being entirely honest about what I have planned for Aldo once we are inside my apartment.

I'm not going to reveal what my plan is, but it might just be the plan that Toby was alluding to last weekend. She isn't quite as dumb as she looks.

I can only hope things proceed according to plan.