Just For Laughs

I love Ellen DeGeneres, and I came across this letter she ‘wrote’ and thought it was too funny not to share.

Dear Morgana,

‘I just wanted to drop you a quick note to thank you for inviting me to your party last week. I’m not very good at parties. But I guess you know that by now. I feel awkward at them and tend to overcompensate by acting in a way that others who don’t know me well might consider a tad weird. However, you know me well and besides, you’re a very perceptive and, I might add, very forgiving person.

I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m really really really sorry for what happened. Maybe it was good, though. Maybe this will be one of those things that a little while from now you’ll look back on and laugh at. Okay, maybe it will be longer than a little while. Eventually, though, after at most a few decades, there’s bound to be some laughter. Isn’t there? Oh God, I’m so sorry.

I know that we’re good enough friends that I could just call you on the phone, but I thought a letter would be preferable for two reasons. One, often it’s easier to say things in a letter than it is to say them in person. And two, you don’t seem to be answering my phone calls anymore.

Sometimes nobody answers the phone-even if I let it ring over five hundred times (I’ve counted). At other times, somebody who sounds like you (but I’m sure isn’t) answers and asks who it is. When I say “Ellen,” that person (who, as I said before, I’m sure isn’t you because you are much too compassionate) immediately develops an obviously fake Russian accent and says, ‘She not home. She move far away to place with no phone. I begging you, please leave alone.”

All that being said, let me begin my apology.

I think a lot of what happened can be traced back to the rum cake I brought over. I just looked over the recipe, and I see now that it called for two tablespoons of rum. For some reason, maybe because I was nervous because I don’t cook that much, I misread that as two bottles of rum. It’s an honest mistake, and your little nephews were eventually going to find out what a hangover is anyway.  I had at least two slices of the rum cake, and I believe that’s why I blurted out that your real name is Marge. I thought everybody already knew! I also thought that everybody would find your old nickname, “Large Marge,” funny. I understand now that it isn’t funny. Anyway, it shouldn’t bother you because you’re not heavy anymore. Oh yes, I’m also sorry that I told people about your liposuction. But at least I didn’t tell anybody about your breast enlargement surgery. Oh, that’s right. I did. Sorry.

As for what I call “the charades incident,” for some reason I get a little competitive (okay, way too competitive) playing party games-once again, to make up for my own insecurities. That’s why when Reverend Green couldn’t figure out I was doing Fried Green Tomatoes and kept on guessing Two Mules for Sister Sarah (which you have to admit isn’t even close-it doesn’t even have the same number of words!) I got mad.

That in no way excuses my calling him a rat @#%!, *^#@-eating moron. Isn’t it cute when you write your curses out that way? It’s too bad I didn’t say it like that. Also, when I jokingly implied that he was a child molester, I had no idea about the recent trial (though I am happy to hear that all the charges have been dropped).

Now, the gift. I was under the mistaken impression (boy, hindsight is twenty twenty, isn’t it?) that the party was for your wedding shower. That’s why I got what I considered to be a gag gift. I didn’t know it was a party for your grandmother’s ninetieth birthday. Otherwise, I never would have gotten her the crotchless underwear and the coupon for the free nipple piercing…’

Partying At

Life On LakeShore Drive