Dear Daisy

Dear Daisy

I guess first of all I should say “hi.” Hi! How have you been? It’s certainly been a long time, hasn’t it? I really hope this letter finds you well. Truly, I do.

I suppose this seems rather out of the blue. But see, the other day the most spectacular thing happened to me. I was on my way to catch the commuter train—I still commute into the city every day for my clerking position at Morgan Stanley. Can you believe it? After all these years, they’ve still kept me around. It’s swell! Goodness though, I digress.

I was walking to the station, using the crosswalk (as I always do—you remember how I feel about safety!) and an automobile being driven by a woman talking on, if you can believe it—a telephone, turned right into the crosswalk! I was mere inches away from being smashed to smithereens! As she roared past it dawned on me with such a force—life is ever so fleeting. Why shouldn’t we follow our hearts and really put ourselves out there? (One of the younger fellows at work, Brandon, showed me a movie called TED Talk the other day. It was about being vulnerable and oh Daisy, it was inspiring!)

So here I write, to you. Because Daisy, a day hasn’t gone by that I haven’t thought about you and us and what may have been and if I’m truly being bold, I want to know: why haven’t you answered me?

All I wanted was for you to give me your answer, do. That was all. Simply an answer—one way or the other but instead you said nothing. And so here I wait.

See Daisy, I’m half-crazy just for the love of you. I mean that. I’ve been working with the most wonderful therapist for years now, Dr. Mandrel Langstein, and I’ve made some most magnificent progress, I really have! But every day transpires the same way. I get home, I make a salisbury steak TV dinner, I spend two or three hours re-reading our old letters and paging through that scrapbook you made me after our trip to Coney Island, and then….I bike.

I place a single daisy in my front basket and pedal, pedal, pedal. It’s often the only release my aching heart and head feel all day, but other times, good gracious Daisy, it’s lonely. And it’s honestly very difficult. The aerodynamics of the bike are not meant for just one person they are meant for two! FOR TWO!

Listen, my pet, I know that you wanted a stylish marriage and I have the finances to provide you such a thing. (Not to mention the carriage you envisioned us galavanting about in, though darling, I’m afraid I need to stick by initial feelings on this one, it’s just impractical. We’d need horses, for starters, and yes, I flirtatiously said I’d figure out a way to fit one in my studio apartment, but I was merely being a cutup. It just won’t work. To be certain, I have asked each and every landlord in this building over the years—they are absolutely not budging. Please know I have tried, love. Oh, how I have tried!)

But I want you to know that over the years, in addition to my continued inquiries,  I have been saving. Putting a little aside from every paycheck with the hopes that someday I can give you the wedding you deserve. No indulgence is too fanciful for you, my peach. And I’ve amassed a sizeable sum. I buy most of my salisbury steak dinners in bulk at Costco so the savings there alone has left enough to give you the soirée you so deserve. Truly! The cost savings per unit is staggering there. It’s quite the place! Have you been? On a weekend you could feast on the samples alone.

Oh golly, I’ve gone and gotten all in a tizzy about Costco now, and that’s certainly not my intent, morsel. Though if it means anything to you, I have an Executive Membership.

I suppose this is all foolish. Me, writing you, hoping I might still have a chance. But Daisy, I said it, and I meant it—you’d look mighty sweet, upon the seat, of a bicycle built for two. And the bicycle-built-for-two has gained significant popularity over the years—we wouldn’t look like “fucking fools” as you said that one time that I try with Dr. Mandrel Langstein’s guidance to forget. If you think you might want to give this old bloke and his old bike another have-at-it. I’m here. I’m always here.


My undying love,


Andrea Klaassen