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We Get You Miss Havisham…

Widow readers take heed–the day is upon us. Every girl that’s lost a beloved braces for the dreaded anniversary. July 2 is this girl’s personal Miss Havisham day. I may not have been left at the altar but every year; jilted is an apt emotion. I get how our dear Miss H wandered the rooms of her mansion clad in a wedding gown and one shoe. Makes sense to me. Makes you wonder how Dickens knew a chick might shuffle about in a smelly dress the rest of her life, non?

When The Chickens are around, we toast and tell stories. This year they’re tucked in far away coops. I will toast to be sure. Look at my wedding dress? Meh, probably not. Maudlin is not a favorite. Cocktails and crying, though, yeah pretty much.

This anniversary marks seven years since The Norwegian left us. Is there significance to seven? Like a cat with crinkly paper, most widows don’t possess the ability to accept and move on. No, we’d rather obsess and be weird.

Did you know, for instance, there are seven colors in a rainbow, seven letters in the roman numeral system, seven dwarfs, seven stars in the big dipper and seven people beheaded at The Tower of London? As my favorite scary place on earth, I did know that one. One was Anne Boleyn–for not gifting Henry with a penis-clad child. Aren’t men just the worst?

The movie Se7en, with Brad Pitt and Kevin Spacey (another asshat who broke our hearts) will scare the hell out of you. You should never say “seven” out loud at a craps table–bad luck. Seven is a lucky number for Cancers and Pisces, if you follow that sort of thing. As a Pisces girl, perhaps that signals good things ahead, non? Nitrogen has the atomic number seven, whatever the hell that means. And the Lotus Seven is the only race car a chick should ever drive.

The number seven creates the most emotional reaction in humans and that’s been true throughout history. On Goodreads, you’ll find over thirty romance novels with the number seven in the title.

As for me and Monday, no idea if this year is lucky number seven; if I’ll see a rainbow or if I’ll figure out why we should give a damn about atomic numbers. What I do know is, every year, Miss Havisham crosses my mind and no doubt she will join me in tears and wandering. Big difference? I’ll have a wine glass or stemmed martini holder at the ready.

What I wish for all the dear widow dolls is that you know, my sweets, you are not alone. None of us are. Even on the one day of year that it feels like it. I will toast to each and every one of you.

Cheers Sweet Dolls.


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