By Mistress Serrella (Sarah Briggs)
Hello, there. How are we doing? Well, it seems that some of the comments I made in my last note to you in our beloved Happy Halloween Magazine stirred the breast of any and all ghouls that are feeling dating pains or dealing with the saps they chose to be their afterlife partners. With that said I feel that I must dive in headlong where other mere mortals fear to swim. Never fear, ghoulish readers, I, Mistress Serrella, will be happy to help all you wand-struck lovers out there with my wit and wisdom. Well, er, ah, maybe just my wit. I lay my advice before, you, the lovelorn among us. Hear the thunder crash? The wind howling? No? Oh, this is the only bad part about print media . . . no sound effects. Drat! Hurry and put on your favorite sound effect CD and read it again. I am sure that this will sound so much more impressive.
Anyboo, I hear your pain! Here is what one poor soul asks in her note to me:
Geez, I can’t believe that I’m really writing to THE Mistress Serrella…OMG!! I saw your wonderful article in Happy Halloween Magazine and knew you were just the person to help me in my dilemma…
Last Halloween I met the nicest guy. I’ll call him “Pete.” I met him at a friend’s costume party, and he was dressed as a zombie. His makeup and attire of old moldy pants and a shredded poet shirt were perfect. I quickly recognized and admired his artistry. Even though one of his fingers fell into the finger sandwiches, he was a great dancer! And, yes, it was love at first sight! Well, we connected really well and decided to meet for a real date several nights later. Now, I love Halloween as much as anyone I know, but what happened next really threw me for a loop! You see, he came dressed it in the same outfit. Oh, my goodness … he WAS a real zombie! My problem, Mistress Serrella, is that I’m an incurable early riser and I passionately love the day light. How can “Pete” and I ever have a meaningful relationship when he’s a classic “night owl”?
Signed, Bewitched and bewildered . . . Diane
My goodness, that is a problem, dear Diane. But I really don’t think your problem is as “night and day” as you think. Well, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but dating a zombie is so … so … dead end and well, just think how smelly it will be. If this is your version of “love at first sight” — get glasses!!! No, no, dear ghoul. Don’t go falling to pieces over this or any other zombie. After all, there are better and more solid Halloween types out there just looking for a ghoul like you! For “Pete’s” sake and yours, nip this in the bud before it goes any further but be sure that the bud doesn’t fall off. I think I would be correct in saying that there is no way for the two of you to be happy, anyway, with the night and day thing going on. Go out there and find a daylight loving dude that will stay in one piece for as long as you want him to! After all, it is really good to find a man that can “raise” the dead in you!
Another woman writes:
Dear Mistress Serrella:
I have a problem that I hope you can help me with. I am in such pain, Mistress Serrella!
My warlock and I have been dating for over a year. I thought that everything was going great until I stopped by his lair unexpectedly and I found my mystical other half in the claw-tipped hand or rather arms of another witch! I was so shocked when I saw how she was lying all over him as they chanted together that I screamed a lot of nasty stuff at him and left. He never showed me a wand that large! Tell me, Mistress Serella, . . . oh, what is a poor witch to do? There is no way I can compete with that other witch, especially with those “magically” enhanced crystal balls that she has! But, dear Mistress Serrella, I do so want him back! Help.
Wounded Witch Wanda
My, my. I know what I would like to do to her and him, but you simply must not give in to the urge to give them a tingle right in the “you know where” area of their bodies. No, no . . . you must resist the urge to add to the bad karma they already create for themselves like pigs draw a stench. Let us think . . . hmm.
Oh, I have a thought that would let him know just how badly he messed up. Here is what I would do if I were you.
I would squeeze into one of my best looking Stevie Nicks‚ style dress; I would raise my bazooms up to the top of that dress for the world to worship; and I would put on my best black boots. Now, go call your ghoulfriends and go where you know he will see you and show him what he won’t be getting! Underhanded flings like these never last because of all the bad karma they produce for the ones who cause so much pain. Funny how that always works out that way.
And now for a look at why it is so important to achieve romance and companionship in this life. The next letter says:
Dear Mistress Serella:
I can’t believe that I am writing a chick to get help, but I guess you are as good as any gal would be. Here is my dilemma.
Last Halloween I was visited by a spirit from the 1920s. I didn’t mind at first, you know, a few jokes about chickens here and a few jokes about a farmer’s daughter there. “Stanley” would appear from time to time, shedding hair off his raccoon coat like snow in December. But lately Stanley has gotten worse. Now he stays here almost all the time singing “Five Foot Two” and making rude hand gestures; and his jokes about Model T’s have gotten much worse! I tell ya, Mistress Serrella, he has gone too far. The other night I had a woman over for dinner, a real babe. Stanley popped in and insulted her by looking at her bosom and asking her, “Are those the economy size?” That really ticked me off!
What can I do to get this lame old geezer out of my apartment and my life while I still have one?
No Laughing Matter Luke
Well, ah, thanks for writing. Well, I mean, I think I thank you for writing, oh dear! There’s nothing worse than smelly jokes made at one’s own girlfriend’s expense. This is a hard one to deal with, you see, but I think I have it. Here is what I recommend.
Stanley is probably a frustrated old soul that must have missed connecting to someone special in life. I will send you a potion that will take care of Stanley so you will get your life back.
When the bottle arrives, light some candles, put on soft music and open the bottle. After the smoke clears (keep a fan close), you should see a gal ghost from the same time period. I think this little ghostly flapper will keep Stanley busy with his own kind. Nothing like a flapping girl comedienne to keep him laughing.
My goodness, how life can throw us some curves and difficulties, but it is up to us and no one else to dish that trouble right back at them. In my mind there are no victims, only people without imagination, a sense of humor or zest for living. You have to gird your loins (or girdle them if you can’t find a gird), brace your bustles and never admit that some evil doer has won. I realize this is nothing new. The only thing that would be better than revenge is to grab a cup of your favorite brew, park your booties and have a good laugh. There is nothing in the life that should ever be taken to our afterlives. Life and death are too short to get all hot and bothered with! There, I said it. Now get out there and kick some of life’s butt!