Dear Madam,

Man enters from stage right, stops center. He carries a carefully handwritten letter in his hand. It is crisp. He holds up the letter, clears his throat, and begins to read.

MAN
Dear Madam, I write this letter as a dire warning. It is not an ultimatum, for that would require that you exist in the literal sense. No, this is from past me to future you. Excuse the errors in tense, since I'm new to this sort of thing. I don't believe in time travel, but I do believe in preparation. So, when I accidentally reach for your glass of wine at that dimly-lit hole-in-the-wall bar and our eyes meet for the first time, and I notice that your eyes don't match and your bleached hair is growing brown again at the roots--I warn you--do not stop me from making a fool of myself. Under no circumstances are you to shift the conversation away from favorite childrens' picture books onto more savvy sociopolitical topics. Do not stifle your laughter when you spot the gaping hole in the crotch of my jeans. And if you dare--for one second--assume that I just might be the grown up shit-together guy to pull you out of a frivolous life of floundering and excess, walk away immediately. Do not even entertain that thought.

The man turns over the letter.

In return for listening to my warning, I vow never to cut you down in front of your friends or mine because I'm feeling insecure. I promise never to force you to come to comic book conventions with me or stay up late to watch zombie movie marathons. On my honor, I'll never talk down to you for your tastes in music, fashion, books, or tv. Hear me out, because I will never call you too much or too little--in this I admit I have an uncanny tendency toward absolute perfection. I will notice a new beauty in you ever single day for a full year--and if we last that long, I will write a poem for each one and publish them in a book that I will bind myself--and give you for our two-year anniversay. All I ask of you is to follow my warning. Do not be fooled by my brooding nature or my stoic looks. I am not one to be taken seriously, but I am one to be taken.

Love, Me. (The one who ordered the Merlot.) P.S. If I won't eat something because I don't like onions, I don't like onions. If you respond "Eat it, you love onions." I will walk right out on you so fast your head will spin.




I guess that's a monologue?

Love,
Dakotah