When I was about 14 years old, I entered a contest sponsored by some teen magazine to win a date with Sandra Dee. I didn’t tell my Mom about this since I knew she’d want to come along on my time with Sandra. I planned this all very carefully. It took hours for me to craft the perfect letter of introduction and a bio of my life to date, which is all too brief. Reflecting on the memoir, I was sure that my message (and the killer headshot of myself) would win the day.
I envisioned bags of mail waiting to be opened by Sandra. Since I knew most of the entries weren’t up to the quality of mine, it was only a matter of time before she called me to set up our date. This was certain to happen, and thousands of other 14-year-old boys would be weeping from rejection. Man, I felt great.
I wasn’t sure how Sandra and I would get to the location of our date; however, I was confident that it was a minor detail. Hey, I lived in San Francisco – we could take a Cable Car. Days, weeks, months, and years passed, and I didn’t hear from her. I was sure she was busy making movies, so I didn’t worry too much at the time. Then one day, I read she was marrying Bobby Darin. Say what? How could she do this to me? At that point, I threw in the towel. What fun we could’ve had, Sandra. Your loss, to be sure.
Are we there yet? 