It's all about the banana

Today's witty anecdote is brought to you by the letter 'M' for monkee.  No friends, that is not a misspelling, but rather an intro into today's post.  You see, when I was about six or seven there was a fierce battle taking place between the loves of my life.  One of them was Ricky Schroder, and his glistening spoons.  His rival was none other than Davy Jones from The Monkees.  As in, "Hey, hey we're the Monkees".  It all started with an album cover of the primate band that either belonged to my mom or my aunt, but either way my cousin and I practically came to fisticuffs over who loved the wee sprite of an Englishman more.  We decided at the time that the only way to end this turf war was to write a letter to our beloved, proclaiming our everlasting love to Sir Davy.  We tore a crisp sheet of loose leaf paper from our Trapper Keeper, sharpened our unicorn pencil, and made sure we had plenty of Lisa Frank stickers to adorn our Baby Soft scented love letter.  We spilled the beans to Mister Monkee about how much we loved his stylish bowl cut, his tight corduroy bell bottom pants, and snazzy black booties. I believe we included self portraits of ourselves, and of course I gave myself bright red lips and eyelids that were adorned with the most vibrant indigo a girl could find.  After we finished our masterpiece that would've made Shakespeare proud, we handed it off to my mom to have her mail it off to the fan club address posted on the back of the album.  Little did we know that the fan club had ceased to exist since 1967, and  Davy at the time was a ripe old age of 40.  We didn't realize that he was old balls even then, but rather fixated on the young buck that was pictured on the album cover.  But since my mother realized that our passion for David ran deep, she and my aunt "mailed" our letter, basically to shut both me and my cousin up.  Time had passed and we continuously asked if they thought the letter had ever been received, and we were frequently given the reply, "Davy is busy frolicking around the nation, beating his tambourine. When he takes time out of his striped pants wearing days, I'm sure he'll write back."  Of course we eventually forgot about Davy and spent that majority of our days trying to figure out just how did Boy George successfully get that smokey eye shadow effect, and where we could get our paws on an authentic Debbie Gibson black hat so that we could look like even bigger goons.  It wasn't until years later that we learned just how off the mark we were with the age difference between us and Mr. Jones.  But even now, years later I still smile whenever I think about the Monkees, and wonder when Davy will ever write me back. :)
*The fantasy... And no, it's not a picture of Donna Hamilton.

*The reality.... And yes, those are moobs.

*And for old times sake....