Her Return to Reality.
Oh, Fantasyland! Our romance ended far too soon. Careless whispers of desire and longing, gone in an instant; we forego the disillusioning discussions of long-forgotten ex-lovers, we bypass the bitter taste of tears, we miss the mascara running down the Duchess's face as she brushes your cheek with a goodbye kiss. Fare thee well, darling. Your memory lives on.
So much so that the Duchess, despairing over quotidian insults the like of which Fantasyland has never seen (Time Warner Cable bills, dirty laundry and the ever-so-pesky hangnail), has taken to bed where you may find her buried under a mountain of Paulette . . .
eaten with a handful of Librium, washed down with a carafe of Cloudy Bay.
Cries of sorrow harmonize pitifully with the Duchess's bluesday playlist. Since misery adores company, darlings, won't you have a listen, too?
Steely Dan, "Deacon Blues" from Aja.
Cocteau Twins, "The Spangle Maker", self-titled
Roxy Music, "More than This" from Avalon
The Smiths, "There is a Light that Never Goes Out," The Sound of the Smiths
The Eagles, "Tequila Sunrise" (don't judge the Duchess)
The Church, "Under the Milky Way" from Starfish
Kate Bush, "Running Up that Hill" from Hounds of Love
The Beatles, "You Never Give Me Your Money" from Abbey Road
and, the ultimate tearjerker (advise listening with hanky in hand),
Bob Dylan, "Mississippi" from Love and Theft
A demain, darlings, a demain.