Dolly, Dolly, Dolly,
This has all been a big misunderstanding. I ain’t NEVER thought about taking your man. In fact, it don’t make no matter if I can or I can’t, but I want to thank you for all the nice things you said about my hair and eyes and other things. Not sure I deserve them (that auburn is just Revlon from the drugstore over on Church Street) and wish I could say them back to you, but every time I start to write you, I just can’t find the right words to say back to you about your hair. Your wigmaker is beyond compare, is the best I can do, and even then I’m using some of your words.
You don’t got to beg. I’m not messing with that man. I promise you. Though I’m sorry if I gave him the impression when I was staring at him in the bank that day. I was distracted, transfixed even, by your warmth and smile, like it’s just Christmas morning every damn day and that beauty just shootin’ out of you like lit by an atom bomb and, well, he just happened to be standing in the way, is all. Can’t do nothing about it if he’s sayin’ my name. It’s a fun name to say, I guess. Seems lots of folks just like to say it over and over and over and over again.
Please ask your man nicely (I know you don’t know any other way) to stop coming in the bank if he don’t got no business there. My manager don’t like it and well, he’s making people uncomfortable staring the way he does. Come to think of it, that man don’t deserve to stand next to such a cross between a fox and phoenix like you if he’s gonna be staring at bank tellers with catchy names all day.
Maybe he’s the one who should be begging. If you keep saying them nice things about my skin and my voice and my lord, my breath- I really didn’t even know you ever paid me no attention-and you really think I can take whosoever I want, well, that man of yours better watch out.