Dear Elvis

Elvis, won’t you please come back to life and be my lover?

I know, I know. I'm no Priscilla. I'm no harelip either, though, Elvis, and I have to be better looking than a bunch of worms.

Also, I'm not the most vivacious socialite. I will only drag you down at big Hollywood parties. But everyone knows you locked Priscilla up for years, so I don't perceive this as an obstacle.

I won’t mind when you sleep with other girls. I’ll cheat too! I don’t want to get married. Marriage is for people with varicose veins. Why would I marry someone when I could hang out with Elvis instead? No, let’s just hit the hash and the hay and the hos in a careless, self-indulgent haze. That’s right, let’s swing baby.

All these boys are looking for love or an emotional bail-out or they’re calculating while they kiss you and nobody just wants to chill out and nobody’s as cute as you. So come, Elvis, come back and we’ll shake and make funny faces in the mirror in our underwear and scream at birds to get the hell out of our way on the sidewalk and eat peanut butter and banana sandwiches.

Just please don’t get fat this time.