The Outer Child

A letter written to the very vegetarian Audrey, whose imagination astounds me always:

“There is this one thing, and I have neglected to tell it to you throughout 2004 at least, and possibly longer. I can’t see how, but it’s true. Several years ago, a commercial came out with a little girl, waking up her parents on Christmas morning. Santa’s been most generous. There are toys floor to ceiling and a box of puppies. Dad says, “Those must’ve been *some* cookies you left Santa.” The little girl twist her hands in the air. She says, “I didn’t leave him cookies. I left him CHEESE.” Now it’s a funny thing, seeing someone else be you, but that little girl is me. Even though she’s not. She’s me. I love seeing me vivacious and scheming.

“Thus, I should have called you immediately, and how did I not, when I first saw the Oscar Meyer bologna commericial in which one little girl is you. She’s you, in one of your simply joyful moods. She even resembles you a bit. And when she holds the bologna sandwich up to someone off camera and makes a distinctly Audrey-y face, I wish the bread held something not made of snouts.”

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