246th and 247th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova  
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Saturday October 3^rd , 1999 13:11PM
Subject:  Change of topic

Can I change the topic please…I feel I keep laying little bombs by your feet…not right…even little ones…so trust me now when I say,,,step left, then right…then back… then run to the end of the mine field…I am waiting...and it is safe…

Miss you so much

Stacey

From: Stacey Marchenkova  
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Saturday October 3^rd , 1999 13:31PM
Subject:  Change of topic

Hey I saw Elsa today…it was really weird…as you know I’ve been getting up early more often…and not just to walk your dog…though this morning Oftenbark was with me…cute as ever...heeling and tail wagging…

Anyway…there we where walking through the Valley again…

Not sure why but I like walking Oftenbark through the valley…I think it’s cause I love the junkies stroking him…

junkies love dogs…

and he also protects me against the hippy craft folk in their cheap oil cubicles at the morning fair…but I confess as much as I hate them…I still look…I still pick up the odd crystal…I still try on the stupid felt hat…I still smell the leather and contemplate buying that TinTin T-Shirt for you…

But I don’t buy anything… trust me…the money stays in my pocket…which is needed…for without it I’d never be able to buy that coffee or cooked (wrote cocked for a second – watch it, mister) breakfast at the Cosmo Cafe…

And Dominique loves the Cosmo…

Do you remember her? She was at my birthday…the pretty gay one…you liked her…you said she was sexy in a gay way…and it wasn’t because you couldn’t have her…or that she had your name…you genuinely thought she was cute and lamented her choice…again, you stressed…not that you’d go there…and if anything you thought…she was going to make some chick very happy one day…

Anyway…there we were, Dominique, me and the dog…we were sharing a big breakfast because we’re girly girls…though Dominique always takes more than her fair share of bacon…lezzo thief…

And as we were eating, I saw Elsa out the corner of my eye…she was at the markets buying some honey, some tatty home made musical instrument and second hand CDs…I swear I saw she had a Genesis CD…

I nudged Dominique…

“See her…that’s Elsa…Dom’s ex.”

Dominique’s eyes narrowed as she took her second sausage…

“I know her.” She said.

“Yes, she dances…maybe you saw her on stage…”

“No, I know-know her.” She said.

It was my turn to narrow my eyes…I took the sausage off her and had a bite…

“You mean know-know?” I asked.

Dominique nodded…and admitted they’d had an affair a year ago when she was doing her design course at Queensland University of Technology.

“She posed for me and later we had dinner…it was nice…she’s a good kisser…”

“But didn’t you recognize her at my birthday dinner?”

“Of course.”Dominique replied, “But I wasn’t going to say anything then. She was with Dom. It was your birthday. It didn’t feel apt.”

“But later, come on! You could have told me later.”

“For what reason?”

“Good gossip.” I replied being a tad selfish.

“Look, Stace’ to be honest…I forgot…I was in love…remember…(not that that worked out)…and it slipped my mind…it’s only now that I remember…just one of those things, I guess…”

I nodded and turned to see Elsa one more time…she was alone and had made it to the plants…she was looking at a cactus…

Dominique at this point turned her look away and stole a piece of bacon from my plate…Oftenbark remained dozing at my feet…either too bored too look or too mean to say Hi…

I think it was the latter…

Miss you, honey…

Staceyxxx        

228th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday September 8th, 1999 11:16 AM
Subject: I don’t want to leave you.

Dear Stacey, I think I am addicted to you.

Over the last week I didn’t get enough of you.

I want more.

I know some would say I’ve had my fill.

But it’s not enough.

My tolerance has increased.

I need more.

See, I noticed over the last couple of days that when you left the room I started to withdraw. Even when it was the smallest of moments, I’d start to get shakey, lose a sense of self, get paranoid and truly feel sick.

How will I be when it’s days, weeks or months?

And sorry I was so grumpy on Saturday. It’s such a stupid thing to waste our precious time with a bad mood. I didn’t think it would affect me when I saw Elsa and Crisps together it hit me hard. I mean at least those craft markets have lots of places to hide but still seeing them by that pottery stall, hand in hand and laughing made me angry. Not jealous. I have to stress. It was pure anger because they had all the time in the world and we only have five days.

It’s just not fair. They don’t deserve each other.

Fuck them.

Anyway no point on dwelling on this moment, it only takes our time away.

I should start packing, but I can’t. It all seems so much. The only thing I want to take with me is you (and maybe an extra pair of socks)

Arghhhhhhh



Love

Dom

219th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Monday August 17th, 1999 20:31 PM
Subject: My new home

Okay here I am back in my parent’s house. It feels weird to be back. I’ve been out of home a couple of years and I’m fighting this feeling of failure as I sit at my old desk, looking at old views and smelling the residue of old dinners.

My mum was sweet about the whole thing however. She bought some comfort food – Custard Cream biscuits and bacon for some sandwiches tomorrow morning. There were clean sheets on my old bed and a Goblin Teasmaid set up so I can wake with a hot cuppa. Now there’s luxury.

My dad was sweet too. He suggested we watch some old films like we used to do when I was younger. So ‘Von Ryan’s Express’ is teed up in the machine and ready to go when I finish this email. If we’re really lucky we might even get a chance to watch‘Where Eagles Dare’ too.

To their credit, my parents have been discreet. They haven’t talked about Elsa or Crisps at all. I appreciate that.

They did ask about Oftenbark and I told them he was staying with a friend.

They hoped that maybe he could stay with them. They love Oftenbark, see.

And I imagine it’d be easier for you too.

So would it be okay if we picked him up tomorrow?

I understand he gets under your skin but you’ve done so much already and I’d hate your Real Estate to find out about him and jeopordise your home.

Now you might have noticed I called you ‘friend’ a few paragraphs up. As in ‘he was staying with a friend’—

Let me explain—

I contemplated telling them about us. But I don’t think they’d understand and though I feel a little cheap about accepting their sympathy it is nice to have the odd parental ‘there-there’.

And to be honest I know they’d judge us. They are quite old parents – now sixty. They had me late in their lives. I am their only kid. And they’re quite conservative – you know - standard bearers of the synthetic fabrics, pinapple, ham and benzadrine suburban set.

But I also know they are kind and protective and if we reveal ourselves at the right time they will embrace you. I promise.

So please don’t take it personally that I’m keeping our connection clandestine still.

You’ll get rewards in the end. Mum will introduce you to the convenience of tuppaware: So handy for little blue pills. And Dad will seduce you into some kind of rotary club while never taking off his hat. Except indoors.

So with this in mind, will it be okay if we pretend to ‘just be friends’ when we pick Oftenbark up?

I know I will find it difficult because the first thing I will want to do is kiss you. It’s been a week since I last saw you and all I want is to touch your cheek or the soft lightly freckled section between your shoulder blades. I so miss that part of you.

Anyway call me or email me back if it’s cool to pop ‘round tomorrow.

And when this is all sorted out here, I’ll fudge an allnighter excuse and defect to your apartment with a stolen toothbrush.



Miss you

Dom



PS Forgot to answer your question you asked on the phone. Yes I did end up seeing Elsa yesterday. It was awkward. She was apologetic about everything. Even us. Though she did say she still hit me if the moment happened again.

What she said she would change was how she revealed her affair with Crisps and understands that our shared friends will more than likely side with me.

I did ask her how long it’d been going on with him. She told me it had been on and off for over a year. But since your birthday they’d been seeing more of each other.

That stung, strangely. She asked about us and for some odd reason I said the same; since your birthday party.

Not sure why.

I guess I’ll never see them again. I guess that’s what getting older is all about; a training ground for losing people. They all fall away in the end, I suspect.

217th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Monday August 5th, 1999 11:31 AM
Subject: You look beautiful when you sleep

Stacey, I didn’t want to wake you.
You look so beautiful when you sleep.
You look beautiful when you’re awake too.
But something about the peaceful glow and the soft breathing is truly magnificent.

It was so nice to sleep next to you – even if it was for only an hour.
You’re warm and soft. I never want to let you go. I think from this day on I will always feel lost in the sheets without you as my guide.

Anyway, I’ve left some fresh tea in the pot and there’s fruit salad in the fridge.

And I know I shouldn’t have but I fixed the washer on the tap in your bathroom too. That dripping must have driven you crazy. I also changed a couple of light bulbs and fixed your kitchen drawer.

Handy, aren’t I?

Hey and sorry for waking you earlier; eight o’clock in the morning is no time for visitors. But I thought you’d be worried and wanted to let you know as soon as possible.

And don’t worry; I’ll ring you tomorrow when it’s all sorted out.
And I might not be able to email for a few days with computer in boxes and all. So please don’t get too stressed.

Also, thanks for looking after Oftenbark for a few days. I know he feels comfortable with you and Elsa never liked him really.

Anyway, I’ll see and speak to you later, sleeping doormouse.


Love
Dom the homeless.

211th - 216th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Monday August 5th, 1999 00:14 AM
Subject: A new day?

Okay I’ve just finished Dracula…not sure why I chose to finish that book tonight…as now I’m a little worried and think that the Count has taken you…maybe I should have finished Confederacy of Dunces instead…been trying to finish it for six months…but Bram Stoker won out in the end…

It’s funny how I do that…I never read one book at a time…I’m always reading five or six books at a time…it’s not that I don’t like them…I just want some kind of variety or something…it’s like channel surfing with lit’…and there’s always one that emerges anyway…and Dracula was that tonight…have you read it? It’s really good…I was so caught up in the other retellings of the story that I had no idea the book was so good…no one’s really made a decent film out of it…and if folk aren’t reading the book because they think they know the story already…think again, folk…you’re wrong…pick it up today and read it immediately….

Now I’m raving…can’t sleep at the best of times…and with you…out there…after Elsa said that stuff at the party…so publicly…with your friend…I keep hearing her words when she announced it – I can’t get it out of my head;

“At least he doesn’t make me feel like an idiot”

And then you told her… and she hit you… and it all feels like an afternoon American soap opera…

At least Marcus doesn’t know…

…should I tell him…?







From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Monday August 5th, 1999 03:11 AM
Subject: it’s so quiet

Don’t you love the wee small hours? It’s so quiet like you could be the last person left on earth…I’d love to be the last person left on earth…or at least the last gaggle of folk…I think that’s why I like the lighthouse doctor who episode so much…it’s like they’re the last people left on earth…actually not really…but as a kid…I fantasized about living on a lighthouse…just me… some supplies… a dog... and a healthy dose of mist…

I think I’m a little tired…







From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Monday August 5th, 1999 06:59 AM
Subject: dawn

The sun is rising…haven’t slept…gone a little mad and eaten all the salty snacks in the house…I tried to sleep but couldn’t…I wanted to be here in case you called…I hope you’re okay…I’m okay…I’m wearing felt-soft terry toweling clothes…toasty warm with dinosaur slippers…sorry they where a gift from my mother…but they do growl when I walk and as much as it shouldn’t - I’m still amused by them…

I also drove around for a few hours last night…I love driving at night…no one around…just me…I have no direction, I turn when I want to turn and stop when I want to stop…I drove past your house…but the lights were off…I think I saw Crisps car…anyway I ended up by the river…I always end up by the river…north where they still have that old wooden crossing-barge-like-thing…not sure what they call them…anyway ended up there…cranked up the stereo and listened to the News….god I love singing along to the news…

“Everybody now… hundreds dead in a Chinese Mud slide… He-di-hee...hi-di-ha...”

Okay that’s just poor taste…the garbage trucks are now in the street….men with fat voices yelling over the loud mechanics…clash of tin and metal and the stink of rotten food and lavender bin liners…okay now I am truly raving…I might put my head down…







From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Monday August 5th, 1999 7:21AM
Subject: Maybe you’re at work…

Maybe you’ll be at work (kinda just wrote that twice – once in the subject and now in message line itself…fuck, Stacey…why are you rationalizing and telling him everything…whatever…just thought you might be at work…you start at 9:00, hey? Okay, I’m going to try you at work…

I wonder if Oftenbark knows where you are…







From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: oftenbark < mailto:ofentbark@hotmail.com >
Sent: Monday August 5th, 1999 07:37 AM
Subject: Where’s Dom?

Oftenbark, do you know where Dom is? Give him a lick for me if you see him...

(Sorry that sounds wrong)

I’m going to sleep now…good boy…good girl…good us…







From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Monday August 5th, 1999 7:59AM
Subject: Maybe you’re at work…

Okay, I think I’ve worked it out…you must be plotting revenge…I’d be plotting revenge…after what she said…what they did…I mean, I know we’re not that much better…but we didn’t rub their faces in it…but…

God is that better…? Are we better? Are we the same? I think we’re the same…maybe sneakier…maybe we’re worse…it’s all so complicated…

I don’t know…

Actually I do know…

I know telling everyone at the party that she was seeing your best friend is wrong… I know she was drunk…but still and all…why would you stand there and tell you that was she cheating…and then to hit you…man those dancers can choreograph a great beating…I don’t know if you saw Crisps face (stupid name by and by) but he was ashen, wan and washen…

I mean what a way to clean out a party…

...and just to be clear…this wasn’t your fault…you didn’t make her do it…you didn’t turn her to him…you didn’t make her hit you…I know we are the same…but she didn’t know…not then--

I think I heard you at the front door?

Is that you…I think I hear oftenbark…

Sending this anyway

209th and 210th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Sunday August 4th, 1999 20:31PM
Subject: I’m going mad

It’s a few hours now and I still haven’t heard…I did try to give you a call…but it just rang out…where are you? Maybe you’ve moved out instead…god if you’ve moved out…how will I contact you…maybe you’re under a bus…or hit by a train…or beaten up by wayward men…or Elsa and Crisps have cut you into little pieces pickled you, stuck you in larder…never to eat you…looking at regifting you…

oh God…maybe you’ve done a runner…maybe you’re in Prison…maybe you’ve killed Crisps …maybe you’re not real…and I’ve been emailing myself over the last few months…

I’ve gone mad!!!

Okay Stacey, breath, breath…this isn’t about you…it’s about Dom…okay, refocusing now…looking back toward you… and I’m going to read and wait for you…I hope you’re okay…

Maybe you’re at the Hitlon…




From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Sunday August 4th, 1999 21:11 PM
Subject: Not at the Hitlon

Okay so you’re not at the Hitlon…felt like an idiot ringing there…but you never know…I’d hate you to spend a night alone in a King Sized bed…

...god... I’m a whore…what’s wrong with me…I’m sure that’s the last thing you’re thinking of…anyway…I feel so hopeless…I’ll wait a little longer…

208th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Sunday August 4th, 1999 15:01 PM
Subject: Stalking now

Okay I couldn’t wait an hour… and I’m still not ringing…please email me back and let me know you’re okay…I just feel awful ringing if Elsa’s still there…man...

...I feel awful if Crisps (dickhead) is there too...

...I can’t handle this…I so want to be there for you…I feel useless...

...Marcus is ringing but I’m not picking up…I know he just wants to gossip about it…arsehole…I mean he’s not an arsehole…he doesn’t know all the details…

...but still and all…what if I came over…? Okay I can’t come over…that’s crazy…email me…please…

204th and 205th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Saturday August 3rd, 1999 1:25 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE I actually feel a little guilty

Stacey, I’ve managed to sneak away from the party and steal into Elsa’s father’s office. They’re all singing and Elsa is dancing with her second cousin who has wonky eyes that keep trying to look at each other.

Good times.

Anyway, in case someone approaches and I quickly have to sign off and send this email, I’ll say a quick goodbe here.

So see you tomorrow at the party and if not a kiss I will certaintly slowly brush past you a couple of times during the night.


Love Dom

PS and the place is called abhaile – two thumbs up for you, Ms researcher.





From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Saturday August 3rd, 1999 1:45 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE I actually feel a little guilty

Okay so there’s my goodbye in case there’s email interruptus.
God I don’t want to be here. I mean they’re nice people and all.

But there’s always a moment around 11:00 pm when everyone’s a bit pissed and the argument happens.

It usually starts over something political. Elsa’s parents are conservative and their children aren’t. I’ve always thought this was weird. They come from a working class background – and were certainly leftward in their youth.

But when they came to Australia, they abandoned their beliefs and voted conservatively. I’m not sure why. Is it because Australia offers new hope and with new hope comes a new form of government? Is it because they feel betrayed by the homeworld system and see a happier life with lazy thinking and less worry? Is it simply about money?

I don’t know. This always confuses me. I simply don’t understand the moment you abandon social justice for better tax breaks. Seems all fucked up to me.

(As you can tell I rarely enter the Family political debate and feel the
brief need to expel it with the above two paragraphs)

Anyway, it was 10:30 and Elsa’s father was already drunk. I could sense him gearing up for the debate. And sure enough, bang on 11:00 it started.

But tonight’s debate wasn’t about politics. It was about Elsa. It was about me.

See, Elsa’s folks had discovered that we were seeing each other and they didn’t like it. They didn’t approve of my nationality or my faith, not even my politics.

They admitted they liked me and enjoyed my company. They thought I was smartish (her mother’s words, not mine) but I had a sense of entitlement.
Elsa flipped out. She yelled that it was her life and she could be with whomever she wanted.

Her father fought back – yes he agreed in theory but he would much prefer it to be a good Irish lad.

The brother’s jumped in at this point. They defended me and Elsa. They thought we were the perfect couple; so desperately well suited.
Her mother jumped back in. She again offered a back handed compliment to me, saying that I did feel like part of the family but as a friend, not blood.

Elsa wailed at this one – threatening to never see her family again.
And me, I stood in the middle as this barrage of bombs exploded around me.

I have to admit, I felt a little impervious to the violence; I felt strangely invincible for as much as the shrapnel flew through the air, nothing hit me. I didn’t bleed, I didn’t fall over; I just stood there watching the war like a ghost.

Of course in Elsa’s true family tradition, come midnight, the argument was over and everyone was embracing. Her parents had accepted me into their flock and were deeply apologetic, confessing that they needed to yell it out so they could find happiness. I thanked them for their honesty and thought of you. And then he said:

Elsa’s Father: So when are you going to ask her to marry you, Dom?

I didn’t know what to say and I have to admit, I mumbled a truly weak reply.

Me: Soon.

Stacey, I can’t believe I said it. I could’ve been honest. I should’ve been honest; but all I said was ‘soon.’

Anyway, I’ve said my goodbye already. So I’ll just sign off. Miss you,
love.

See you tomorrow at the party.

197th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Wednesday July 31st, 1999 22:21 PM
Subject: I’m actually feeling a little guilty

Sorry Dom, only just got your email...servers been down…been driving me crazy…I thought you might have emailed and I kept checking every five minutes…

Anyway back online now…

Well today was meant to be uneventful…was going to try and compose some music…that didn’t work…beginning to think that maybe the music thing isn’t for me…

it didn’t help that my mother rang to tell me my father had been in contact about the blunt assessment I made of him a couple of weeks back…she thinks I should be more sensitive…but come on, he’s a terrible father…and really I should have nothing to do with him…

…it also really worries me that she always defends him…I mean he cheated on her…

Anyway this stuffed my whole creative spirit and any attempt to write lyrics always had the touch of Plath about it…here’s an example:

“Why do I scare you, Daddy?

I’m small and harmless

Why do you scream when you see my, Daddy?

People say I look just like you…”

So indulgent, it drives me crazy…

So I went for a walk…before I knew it, I was near the city…I thought about walking to the University to see you…didn’t even need you to see me…just wanted to see you…through the window would be fine…

but as I got close to the edge of the city, near Roma Street…I saw Elsa…I think it was Elsa…she was in this car…in the passenger seat…talking to the driver…stopped at the traffic lights…

we made eye contact in that brief moment and I saw something in her face…something like she knew…or I knew…or something secret…I know that seems vague…but that’s the best I can come up with…it was if we understood each other somehow in this brief moment…

…but as I said…it might not have been her…

Anyway this event made me think of you more…and suddenly some lyrics popped into my head…

“In the ocean there’s this buoy

I cling to him in timeless sight

He has a little red light on top of his head

That helps me find him in the blackest night”

Got a melody for it too…I think it’s a little chick-folk…but perhaps with some grunty guitar behind it it could be an ironic pop song…

Fuck…what do I know? It’s probably shit…

Are you at the Uni bookstore tomorrow? I can pretend to be a customer if you like and you can show me something by Henry James while we chat about our infidelity…

I think I’m feeling a little guilty or something…

194th and 195th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova mailto:kookolka@powerup.com
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Tuesday July 30th, 1999 22:04 PM
Subject: RSVP

Hi dom…I’ll be there…I’ve also checked with Marcus…he’ll be there too… really looking forward to it…


S

PS If it helps you'll always be blind in my heart :)



From: Stacey Marchenkova mailto:stacey_marchenko@hotmail.com
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Tuesday July 30th, 1999 23:14 PM
Subject: bad

Okay so you got the proper email reply for the party, right…

Well here’s my private one:

We are so bad, Mr Borax
Really, really bad…

I can’t believe it…
I am shocked at my behaviour…

See, I never thought I’d be one of those people…those bad, shocking people…
And here’s the thing…

I’m liking it…

I am so liking it…loving it even

And I’m so scared that I’m liking it…you know…

And I feel oddly thrilled you slept with elsa too…that’s weird, right…I thought I’d get jealous…but now…right now…I feel…hot…

Maybe I’m a pervert or a slut…god…that’s it…I’m a big fat old slut…

I am one of those girls… a bit of musk, a short skirt and a flushed cheek…
Fuck, I want to shag in you public…

…miss you so much tonight…

193rd email

From: Dom Borax
To: Undisclosed recipients
Sent: Tuesday July 30th, 1999 20:01 PM
Subject: Party Invitation. Dom and Elsa’s – Sat’ 7:30

Hello All, sorry about the global.

Elsa and I are having an impromptu party on Saturday night. It's more of a celebration for Elsa than me as she is a way better person than I am.

Please feel free to debate:

Anyay – the address: 4/15 Albert Street West End – 7:30.

It's a fancy dress party.
The theme: Come as yourself.

And in case you’re not sure who that is we’ll have some cocktails waiting for you on arrival to help.

Apart from that please bring your own bottle, bag of jellied fruits and a secret that you’re willing to share to a small group of people for social buoyancy reasons.

Of couuse the latter is optional but if you embrace the suggestion you will certainly elevate the discussion beyond shared entertainment and take it to a place of a communual gossip.

Coz aint that what it’s all about, folks?
A little chatter stops us fearing death, right!!??

See you then.


Love
Dom

PS Not sure if I should have mentioned the word ‘death’ in an invite for a piss-up excuse for a party.

Please don’t let it get you down.

And in a weak attempt to rectify that odd detour in tone I offer this triviality from my own life for you to ponder, be amused, dismissed and distracted:

Sometimes I pretend to be blind to get attention.

189th email - 192nd email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Tuesday July 30th, 1999 17:21 PM
Subject: RE RE Close Shave?

Do you really want me to tell you I fucked Marcus that night? You’re a strange one, Dom Borax.


S

PS No I didn’t fuck Marcus. But did you fuck Elsa that night?




From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Tuesday July 30th, 1999 17:27 PM
Subject: RE RE RE Close Shave?

PPS And Yes we’ll come to your party…but only if our feet can find a quite place to snog at some point.




From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Tuesday July 30th, 1999 17:28 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE Close Shave?

PPPS And what you doing tomorrow? I can pick you up from the Uni bookshop, during your work lunch and we can shag in the car park…




From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 30th, 1999 20:AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE Close shave

Deal. I’ll be the lady of the night standing on the corner in ripped tights.

I don’t come cheap.


Dxx

PS And are you a cop? You have to tell the truth when asked or it’s entrapment. (I think that’s the word)

PPS Yes, Elsa and I did shag that night. Sorry.

188th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 30th, 1999 11:26 AM
Subject: RE Close shave

That’s quite unnerving and a little exciting. Kinda like going back to a restaurant after getting a bad does of food poisoning because you really love their duck.

But you seem okay now; yeah?

Elsa was a little suspicious when I got home too. She was put out that she wasn’t invited to dinner. I stressed that it was impromptu. She stressed I could have called her.

I fudged it by saying it could’ve been awkward considering the status of your – whatever it is with Marcus - because another couple might have only reminded them of the good times.

Oftenbark rolled his eyes at that one.

So did Elsa.

She thought I simply didn’t want her around; she felt she didn’t fit in and she admitted that it’s hard to keep up with the banter sometimes.
She then had a bit of a melt down. She feels she’s not intellectually up to the group and they laugh behind their backs at her.

Now I know this it not true. But man, I felt guilty. Cause in a way you and I are laughing behind Elsa’s back.

I came so close to telling her about us. But Oftenbark barked at a car back firing in the street and the moment was lost and I returned to my role as Captain Sympathy to deal with a fast approaching War Ship called the HMS Self Dread; canons loaded, taking aim but missing. Just.

(Okay - went off on a lame metaphor there – sorry – back to literal. Message to self: If I’m going to be poetic be certain I have the text)

Back to Elsa:

Feeling guilty, I took action against Elsa’s worry. I suggested we have a party. Our place; on the weekend – and we can invite everyone - her friends, my friends; everyone.

I can’t believe I suggested it.

So do you and Marcus want to come over to our place on the weekend?
(Of course I’d really like to see you sooner)


Dxx

PS And I have to ask, and I hate myself for asking it, but did you – you know – you know – with Marcus?

167th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Friday July 26th, 1999 18:22 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Last night’s call

Stacey, I think I’m sitting in the same internet café as you. I’m sure I just saw you.

I’m just going to peer over the monitors:

Yes, that’s you.

I can’t believe it.

Are you emailing me as I email you? How funny.

I’m checking my email.
(A few minutes later)

Okay you are emailing me.

If it helps I feel the same way. I feel nervous and little guilty.

Elsa thinks I’m out with the lads.

I am such a liar.

I wonder if you’ve told Marcus anything.
Indeed do you need to tell Marcus anything?

Sorry.
Whatever.

I shouldn’t be talking about them.

I am so excited about seeing you. I just watched you cross the road and move into the hotel. You looked around the foyer.

You’re back outside now; having a cigarette.

You’re trying to look busy and you are so beautiful.

Maybe you’re in the moment.
I hope so.

I can’t stand it any longer.
See you in a second.

156th e-mail

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999 2:35 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

Yeah. Oh.

So here it is. Here’s the truth. This is what I’ve been bottling up for months.

And please stop reading now. I am about to open up my chest and let it all out.

It’ll be easier to write if I know you’re not reading.

So please stop reading now!

--

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--

--

--

--

--

--

--

--

--

--

--

--

--

Okay, I’ve tricked myself into believing you’ve stopped reading and I’m just writing to myself.

So here it is.

I do like you.

I like you very much.

We connected – bantering about collectives and silly dog names.

And the first night we went out was lovely.

I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I had that hollow cup feeling, you know?

I was fourteen again. I’d write your name all over the place even with my finger in the air, in dirt with a stick. One evening I bought some sparklers and wrote your name in the night time sky.

I even made you a mix tape too. How shameless.

Here was the track list:
1: Am I wrong – Love Spit love
2: Thirteen – Big Star
3: You’ve lost that Lovin’ feeling – The Human League
4: This is the day – The The.
5: Melt with You – Modern English
6: Let’s Ride – Roger Nichols and his Small Circle of Friends
7: The Night I heard Caruso Sing – Everything but the Girl
8: Unguarded Moment – The Church
9: Gossip – My Friend the Chocolate Cake
10: Ghosts – Japan
11: Margot’s Waltz – Lloyd Cole
12: Don’t Think Twice it’s alright – Bob Dylan
13: If I could talk - Lemonheads
14: That’s Entertainment – The Jam
15: Ouija Board – Morrissey
16: Ship Song – Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
17: Glory Box - Portishead
18: Hard Times – Baby Huey

But I never gave it to you. I think I was embarrassed. I mean it’s such a clichéd thing to do.

I tried to write you a poem too; something a little funny, quirky and childish. But it was mainly crass – so sorry for even attempting.
But then Marcus happened (and that’s cool) and you liked him (again – cool) and I fucked up (not cool) and knocked that stupid drink over (really not cool).

I know I did it because I was emotionally all over the place. And you owed me nothing. I was an idiot - plain and simple.

But I still thought of you. I tried not to.

I dreamt of you. I saw your face on strangers in the street.

You were everywhere; on the radio, in the newspaper, on the television.

Your face was plastered twenty feet high on billboards. Your image was posted on the side of buses selling a great romantic movie that was coming soon.

I tried to make it stop. I really did. I’d close my eyes. I tried to sleep. But you were still there.

I was crushed.

And do you remember that rave (‘Herpes and something or other ball’ a few months back). You asked me if I turned up because of you.

I lied.

I believe I went on some verbal rant about how amazing the night was and how it was coincidence I was there.

But the truth is I did go out that night because you were there.

I even tried to tell you how I felt.

I recall the moment; a smooth mix of Biftec was playing. You were dancing with Marcus and I said,

‘Leave him. Run away with me.’

But the music was so loud you nodded and didn’t hear me.
And when the morning came and I saw you with Marcus, I suddenly realised that I was a cuckoo; foolish and sinful.

And it wasn’t just guilt.

It was the romantic Gods that told me.
You did look good together.
You smelt good together.
Your children would be healthy.
That’s what the Gods told me.

I admit I cried a little that night.

And in the morning, Elsa came home with that Keith guy. Remember him? Very handsome and very dull. They went straight into her room.

And I was alone (I have a small bear for these moments – had it since I was one week old)

So I decided to stop. I hit my chest hard and decided to stop.
The following morning, I woke groggy – coming down. I met Keith in the Kitchen (good name for a band) and love, sex and the whole pot suddenly seemed a little unfair.

So when Keith was gone I drew pictures of knobs with Elsa.
The next morning we woke in the same bed.

And though I still occasionally thought of you as I kissed her, I knew this was maybe a cure.

I focused on Elsa and tried to forget about you. And I enjoyed it. I really did.

For a week or so.

But you emailed again and it was ever so tempting to go back. I tried not to. I tried not to email you so obsessively.

If you recall, I wrote curt, short replies.

And I spent my time with Elsa.

But soon I was back; falling for you again. And all those feelings of teenage pain returned too.

But it was getting familiar. I liked it.

And when we went to your birthday dinner party and I met some of your new friends, I felt comfortable. I felt that I could sit with you, as yours, and fit right in.

But I was with Elsa and she’s so sweet.

And there you were too, at the head of the table preparing to flash your breasts in the female toilets.

Things were now very complicated.

I remember holding Elsa’s hand under the table and gently stroking her knee as some kind of guilt compensation.

I couldn’t even look Marcus in the face. I felt he knew and when he left so abruptly, part of me felt it was because of me. He was upset at me. Deep down I knew this was madness, but I couldn’t help think that he was returning home and preparing some kind of home made bomb with my address on it.

And all the while my hand remained on Elsa’s knee.

The following day when you emailed and discussed your awful night, I felt so buoyed that you considered me safe to discuss such woe.
And then Oftenbark started writing. That was liberating. I could say some of the things I couldn’t directly.

And I felt you could too.

It was an affair of sorts.

I even put it out there. I don’t know if you recall but Oftenbark suggested that we’d make a great couple.

You correctly saw through this ruse and shut it down.

And I understand.

But for a few hours, I hated you a little.

I wanted you to confess, that you had feelings for me too.
But you didn’t. And that’s cool.

So I stopped writing as Oftenbark and tried to return to Elsa.
But you kept coming. You invited me over for breakfast. You even invited Elsa. I said she was asleep. She wasn’t. I wanted to be alone with you.

I spent so long in the bathroom before coming. I deliberated about what clothes to wear. I thought about bringing you the mix CD.
I giddily arrived. I was so happy to see you.

But as soon as I stood in Marcus’s apartment, I truly realised that you were with him.

Not me. I was so close to acting foolishly.

And this feeling of jealousy and disempowerment brought back that moment with my ex and Russell.

And I hated myself then. I felt sorry for myself and I hated myself.
I even told you the story about Russell, so you’d feel sorry for me too, I think.

And I think you did. We plotted ways to kill him. I loved that game.
And for a moment I convinced myself that this was the best outcome. We’d be secretly intimate in our writing and publicly polite everywhere else.

You’d be with Marcus.
I’d be with Elsa.

And we’d shag with emails.

We’d have something with each other that we never would share with them.
We had secrets. We had fears. We had cruelty. We had fun.

I was going to survive.

Thank God, I was going to survive.

And then you broke up with Marcus.
(not quite sure how to write a musical dramatic chord progression to punctuate the moment – maybe something like Dum-dada-da-DAAAAA!)

So my plan didn’t work.

You see, for me to survive I needed you to have Marcus. I needed you to have the real relationship so we could have the secret one.

So you’re right, I was being safe in my responses to you. I was being a councellor. But if I didn’t, this is what I’d write:

“Dear Stacey, don’t be with Marcus. Be with me. He’s an idiot. I am too. But I know it. He doesn’t."

And for the record you shouldn’t have break up sex with him. He’s a fuckwit and you’re being foolish and perhaps a little cruel.
Besides he’s still controlling it and if you think differently – you’re deluded.

Finally – and here's the big one, if you actually want to go back with Marcus well that’s fine and good. But if you do, please stop writing to me.

I don’t think I can take it anymore.


Dom

PS So there it is. Complete honesty.
God I hope you haven’t read this.

135th - 138th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Thursday July 18th, 1999 9:01 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE Had an adventure

So are you guys back together?






From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Thursday July 18th July 1999, 22:31 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE Had an adventure

I don’t think so…I don’t think I want it…but things are different…he’s been staying here and not reading before going to sleep…sex is better and he shuts up when I tell him to shut up…

I am a little confused.

How’s things with Elsa?






From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Friday July 19th, 1999 8:51 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Had an adventure

Things are fine with Elsa. But we both hope that you’re looking after yourself. Of course we support you in whatever decision you make.


Dxx






From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Friday July 19th July 1999, 21:05 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Had an adventure

Hang on a second… your email sounds final…I’m not making any decision here…

I’m not thinking of returning to Marcus or leaving…indeed this seems quite pure…we’re just in this moment together…yes it’s intimate…but I have found that sex is the closest I get to being in the moment…and if I shut out the fantasy and just focus on the physical it’s perfect…

I know Marcus isn’t quite in the moment…but I don’t care…he’s only a few beats behind or ahead…and we’re not fighting and I’m in control…

So to have you mention that I need to make a choice about being with him or leaving him indefinitely is really insulting…

And patronising…

I mean, come on, Dom…where do you get off? You’ll support whatever decision I make?

You sound like this councillor my mother made me see when I was fifteen…she wouldn’t take a position either…instead playing both sides in a crude attempt to make it seem that she truly understood…

…but she didn’t…she didn’t understand either position…but fuck me if she was going to reveal that…no…she had to stay that one professional step ahead of me because it made her feel better…

I still see her sometimes in the Library…and she pretends to not know me…

I’m going now before I get really angry…

129th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Saturday July 14th, 1999 11:03 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Stacey,
Let me tell you about my life.

After we stopped emailing last night, I hoped for some kind of Friday 13th kill-thrill movie marathon to cap off a seeming perfect day. Not that I wanted to be gouged optically, hacked and minced internally or threatened by a vocally vocoded Lurch who desperately ‘wanted to put their evil inside me…’

No, I simply wanted to be frightened by watching it happen to others on my wonderful cathode ray tube telly. For that’s what the Friday 13th’s about, an indestructible killer in a mask, yeah?

So - there I was – home alone. Elsa was out with some friends at some costume party (come as ‘your favourite psycho’ party) not to return until the wee hours. (Note: I had elected to stay home because the idea of wearing that Winnie the Pooh costume again was too much for me to bear)

Besides some solo time was just what this misanthrope ordered.

And it seemed perfect. I toasted a toastie, made a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold tea, turned off the lights, lifted Oftenbark onto the couch and prepared myself for some classic slasher horror to keep me company and guide me into the 14th.

It seemed like a perfect waste of time.

And I was so ready; ramped up, fore-played and titillated by our moody cruel banter of bloodlust-Badlands-Moors-Bonnie-and-Clyde-Leopold-and-Loeb murdering of our dear bloody Russell:

I was set aquiver.

But then - the TV exploded.

Okay not exploded – maybe more whimpered as TS would say leaving me just with the grainy super 16 memory of masked killers and bad acting.

Damn you Cathode Gods.

So I went to bed, wanting to dream the bad that good man fear.
But that didn’t even happen. All I got was one of those work panic dreams where I forget how to use the bar code.

I hate that dream.

So I woke on the 14th feeling betrayed and craving comic book violence.

Elsa wasn’t home yet so there was no one to moan to or at least be tortured by with indecent tickling.

I guess she had a good night. You know those dancers - once they get the kick, they’re kicking until dawn.

Even Oftenbark was weary of the idea, preferring to lazily chomp on a squeak toy that looked kinda like my Uncle Dan’s face after he was badly sunburnt last New Years day.

So what was I to do? Well, I showered, ate toast, invented a new facial expression and decided to make a weapon out of alfoil and coat hangers.

And that’s when he returned, my Boogie Man, my Jack the Ripper, my nightmare, my slasher, my killer in a mask.

Keith.

Him: Hey!

Me: Keith!?

Him: Do I know you?

I couldn’t believe it. It was Keith. He was obviously still dressed in his Ed Gein costume from the previous night’s party.

Me: What you doing here?

Him: Need to piss.

I shook my head trying to block out this all encompassing image as Keith waddled drunkenly toward the back of the flat.

Elsa walked in shortly after.

Me: What’s Keith doing here?

Elsa: He gave me a lift home.

Me: He’s drunk.

Elsa: I don’t think so.

We then heard vomiting.

I turned and looked at Elsa as she shrugged and collapsed on the couch. She tried to turn on the TV to lull her away from the boozy night.

Me: It’s broken.

Elsa: Oh.

More vomiting was heard from the toilet.

Me: So Keith was at the party?

Elsa: I know.

Me: Why?

Elsa: We have mutual friends.

This seemed implausible as Keith finally emerged from the toilet.

Him: I wouldn’t go in there for a bit.

He said as he plonked himself on the couch between us.

Me: So, Keith. I see you went to the party as Ed Gein. I really love the hick bib and brace and leatherface mask.

Keith looked at me, bewildered.

Him: Who’s Ed Gein?

I couldn’t be bothered responding - here I was again with this immortal extra sent to taunt and torture me forever.

Him: Hey do you mind if I sleep here today?

Keith finally said after what seemed like the longest ten seconds of my life. I looked at Elsa – who was moments away from sleeping.

Me: What?

Him: I’m wiped.

Me: So?

Him: Do you have one of those allergenic pillows?

Me: No.

Him: I might snore then.

Me: You can’t stay here.

Him: Why?

Me: Because you frighten me.

Him: Really?

Me: You’re always going to be in my life, aren’t you?

Him: I don’t know.

Me: You’ll always be after me?

Him: Only if you steal my wallet.

Me: I can’t kill you can I?

Him: No.

Me: I’ll never be able to kill you?

Him: No!!

Me: Even if I stab you with this fake alfoil sword, you’ll come back from
the dead time and time again.

Him: I might just go, okay.

Me: But you’ll be back.

Keith started to back off out of the lounge room, nervously.
I watched him go, never taking his eyes off me until he reached the door. And there I was again, alone and comfortable with Elsa sleeping next to me. And though the TV was shot and it was a day later than I hoped, I realised I had finally got what I wished for.

I had gotten my horror film.
I had gotten my boogy-man.
His name was Keith.

Him: Hey, mind if I borrow twenty bucks. I’m nearly out of petrol.

Said Keith as he made one final appearance in my life for that day.

Me: My God, I’m in the sequel already.

Him: So no to the twenty bucks?

Me: Burn in hell.

Keith shrugged and left. His smell still lingered from the bathroom, his torture was complete and I was eternally going to be his last girl.
Please help me.


Dom xx

107th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Oftenbark Borax
Sent: Saturday July 7th July, 1999 18:29 PM
Subject: RE RE Stacey here…

Hi Oftenbark…thanks for your email and your lovely words…I was having a rather shitty day…cash poor…been living off Marcus for a few days…hate that…so I went looking for work…had no luck…

But today…I got a part time gig…yeahhhhh…

…it’s telecanvassing…nooooo…

I know that’s so dull…but it is for the Guide Dogs for the Blind…so I thought you’d approve…

I wanted to tell them when I applied that I was having a correspondence with a dog…but took your words of advice and elected to keep silent…

I mildly flirted instead… (though I’m sure a letter of support or a reference from you would’ve seeled the deal earlier)

Interesting to hear your thoughts on Elsa…but pretty hard core…as she seems rather nice, I thought…but perhaps nice in my language translates to plain in yours…not sure…

I also think it’s important to say that though I think Dom is great…but it’s not going to happen between us…not now...he’s got someone…I’ve got someone…timing is out…shame, I know...

I’d just hate for you to get your hopes up…

But on a more positive note when will I see you again…?

You should convince Dom to bring you over for a visit…do you have a favourite treat? I’ll get it in!!!


Love
Staceyxxx

106th email

From: Oftenbark Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Friday July 6th, 1999 7:20 AM
Subject: RE Stacey here…

Dear Stacey, Oftenbark the Dog here. Sorry it’s been a few days. I don’t check my email that often. Actually this whole email thing is new to me.

Not that I’m blind to email correspondence. I’ve always been a little curious about Dom’s messages; but truth be told, I feel safer to engage with strangers from a distance.

Part of this is due to shyness.

The other part is about self preservation.

See once the men in white coats get a sniff of a literate and tech savvy canine; it’d be only a matter of hours before it’s electrodes on desexed testicles, and a dreadlocked red, blue and green wired science hat that reduces my complex and poetic thought patterns into simple and qualitative wavy lines. Ingrates.

See, I am not a freak, Stacey. And will not put myself out there to public scrutiny.

I will not do interviews.
I will not be experimented on.
I will not be reduced.
I will not be a chapter in a book no one ever reads.

So with this in mind, please keep our correspondence a secret. Besides who will believe you if you confess to having a written relationship with a dog, anyway!?

Now to answer your question about Elsa – ‘do I like her?’

This is a hard question to answer as Dom likes her. I think he likes her a lot. I surmise this because I hear them kissing and talking all the time; not much laughter though – I think that’s odd as Dom is quite funny.

Anyway and besides that, for this reason, I like her too.
She’s sweet.
But--
But—-
There’s always a ‘but’ right. Well—-
But there’s a part of that doesn’t like her at all.

There I’ve said it.
Wrote it.
Said it. You know what I mean.

See, part of me thinks that Dom deserves so much better than Elsa.
And it’s not dog envy. It’s true. I mean Elsa goes out all the time. She stays out late, gets drunk, doesn’t let Dom know where she is.

I mean, I know she’s always done this. She is a self proclaimed party-girl. But I sometimes see Dom fret, worry about her, groom me.
See Dom likes to brush me when he worries. It’s his tell and this would suit me fine normally. But when it’s 3:00 in the morning all I can offer is:

“Come on! I’m sleepy!”
Brush, brush, brush—
“Dom, this is pointless!”
Brush, brush, brush—
“Who’s going to see me at this hour?”

And when Elsa does finally arrive home; it’s usually via a lift from some strange guy with a smoky car and a shit mix tape.

Those nights, she also crashes quickly, so any attempt to discuss it is quashed with a speed-of-light nod on the couch, on my rug mind you too.

So sensibly and without any other choice, Dom brings it up the next day.

But again Elsa shuts him down – accusing him of being controlling - which he is – I mean dog collar, sit, beg, paw, stand, etc - but this isn’t controlling. Elsa is wrong, here.

She is deflecting. Cleverly, for it makes Dom feel like it’s his behaviour that needs addressing. Not her stay-out-all-night get-blind-drunk flirt-with-everyone smell-like Aramis-and-tap-beer and attempt to get the world-record-for Friday-night-front-seat-stranger-shagging

And to be honest, I’m a little surprised she’s even getting any attention. See one of the things that really irks me aboiut Elsa is (and I hate to say this) but Elsa is a little plain.

Not in the looks department; as all people seem plain to me. No Elsa seems plain in her (what us dogs call) energy.

I know that sounds intangible to you. But from a dog point of view, energy is one of our most instinctive and prioritised senses.

We just get the essence of people quickly.

Okay maybe I’m being a little cruel. Elsa can be fun. She does play catch and she does scratch my neck.

But sometimes, usually when the day is coming to an end, and she is heading out, I sit in my basket and stare at her; trying to work her out.

I smell her. She smells like paper. I listen to her and she sounds like a slightly out-of-tune hum. And on the odd occasion I lick her, she tastes like unsalted butter.

You on the other hand have a special energy. And not that it’s possible, but in a perfect world, one where dogs can be Kings, I would nudge you in Dom’s direction.

Not that you were asking of course. But in case you’re having a bad day, I thought I’d mention it.

And please don’t tell Dom. I’m certain he’d give me away to the ‘farm in the country’ if he knew.


Warmly
Oftenbark

101 - 105th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 3rd, 1999 10:24 AM
Subject: RE RE RE Just for you

Dear Stacey,
That was really amazing. Can I let Dom read it?


Love
Oftenbark




From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 3rd, 1999 10:36 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE Just for you

Sorry Stace’, you wouldn’t believe this but I just found Oftenbark on the computer. I didn’t know he could type.

Anyway I had a quick look at the message he sent and thought it was better to not read your email. It seemed private.

And in the future I have set up an email address for him if you want to correspond.

oftenbark@hotmail.com

Hope today is a better day.

Dom




From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Tuesday, July 3rd, 1999 19:27 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE Just for you

Hey Dom, you can read the email if you want.




From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 3rd, 1999 22:01 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE Just for you

Hi Stacey, I reckon it is best to keep it between you and my dog.

dxxx




From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Oftenbark Borax
Sent: Tuesday July 3rd, 1999 22:01 PM
Subject: Stacey here…

Dear Oftenbark…I’m not sure how often you check your emails…but wanted to send a quick one saying hello…so hello and welcome to the email world…

don’t worry I won’t pester you too much…but I hope you’re well and that Dom is treating you with kindness…

how is he by the way…
things going well with Elsa…
do you like her…?

Love
Stacey