Dear Gabby,
In care of “The Real Deal in Verona”


So, let me ask you a question. When a guy stands outside your window at the darkest hour of the night proclaiming his love to you, what do you do? Especially when this so-called hunk is wearing bright tights that cling to his…, well, let’s not go there. Anyway, I met this guy. Yes, I know I’m only fourteen, but he just melted my heart like a lump of butter. We stood in the shadows at the Capulet Masquerade, and you wouldn’t believe what he said to me. He said, “She doth teach the torches to burn bright.” How romantic is that? Then, he kissed me right out of nowhere, and I felt my knees fly from beneath my weightless body, as I turned into a puddle of happiness. I normally don’t kiss a guy on a first date and especially not on a blind one, but hey, he kissed me, so I assumed it was all right. Then he said, “Sin from thy lips! O tress pass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.” Oh, my heart pounded with rich, angelic music and the holy choir belted in my head.

Anyway, to get on with the story I couldn’t catch a glimpse of what the guy looked like. I only heard his melodious, sonorous voice. It was masked with youth and I could not exactly pinpoint his age, but from his mannerisms I came to the conclusion that he was just a couple years older than myself. I was wearing a feathered mask to cover my eyes, because of a slight problem. The night before the party, I had contracted pink eye and could barely see an inch in front of my nose. I had to be careful as I wobbled up and down the stairwells. My nurse accompanied me throughout the evening to make sure I didn’t sit in a flowerpot or eat napkin or anything. Good help is so hard to find these days. The mask covered the pink eye pretty well, but still my eyes watered and swelled. Only a crevice of light passed through the lids. The nurse led me away from my enchanter, but later that night he made a surprise visit. There he was, a persistent fellow outside my window. I heard him call and I tried to gaze over the balcony, but my eyes were still clouded. “Romeo, O Romeo, where for art thou Romeo?” I called. Now let’s get the story straight. People go way too deep into this. When I say “where”, I mean “where”, not “why”. Remember that. I stumbled onto the veranda groping the banister and we talked until he had to scurry away from the watchmen.

Thankfully, my eyes cleared up a week later. I was beginning to look like a pink raccoon. I wanted to see him again, but when I called upon him, he was the most hideous youth I had ever seen. I could hardly bear it. A beautiful girl like me, a fresh daisy with that…ewww. I tried to push him away, but he was like a leech, a parasite, and a thorn in my side. I just couldn’t get rid of the guy. I tried the phrase “It’s not you, it’s me”, but he was still so clingy, just like the tights on his…let’s now get into that again. I needed a way to disappear for a while before he gave me a mental breakdown. Plus, I had other options. Some prince named Paris, that my father was trying to set me up with, was interested in invoking my hand in marriage. He had abs of steel and an accent. I love a man who can’t speak the Verona vernacular without messing up a couple of syllables. Oooh la la. I commissioned a local clergyman to fake my death and he was successful. However, something unfortunate happened. Romeo committed suicide because he felt he could not live without me. I just want to know something important. Is his death really my fault? I mean, you wouldn’t expect me to love that creature. What else could I do? It was a simple accident, a misunderstanding. So, I just want to know what your take on this is, Gabby. Please keep this note confidential. Was it shallow of me to judge him by his pimpled nose and thick uni-brow? Am I at fault for his death? After all, he was a Montague; it would have never worked between us.















In complete truth,
Juliet Capulet