Another one bites the dust.

Dear Theo,

I didn't even know you had a girlfriend. And now this? Oh but you have wounded me, my darling.

Granted, we've never met. But, I think if we ever had, you'd chuck this tall blonde do-gooder of yours for me. It would have been perfect. We're both from New England, you went to my brother school. You work for the Red Sox, I want season tickets to Fenway...

I would have treated you nice. We could have been like the Yawkeys (sorta... without, you know, owning the team and being racists who pass on Jackie effing Robinson). We'd have picnics in the outfield at Fenway and you'd indulgently allow me to bend your ear with my opinions on the club's direction (but then you'd take my advice because I know what I'm talking about... no, really). I'd snub Lucchino at cocktail parties and charm John Henry. We'd have Thanksgiving with the Schillings in Boston and you could talk Sox with my Dad at Christmas.

But alas, it was not to be. I, along with thousands of young lady New Englanders, will cry myself to sleep tonight.