July 1, 1976
Dear Mister Rogers,
I’m writing this letter because I’m desperate. I have only a few months to live and it would mean a great deal to me if you could lend me your puppet, Henrietta Pussycat. I would have done it the easier way by just finding something to blackmail you with. And Lord knows I’ve tried. But you are just as squeaky clean as everyone says you are. And I’ve talked with lots of people who know you. So I must now then appeal to your plain goodness on this one. There’s nothing you can do about my disease. It’s a rare blood disease that runs in the Thrope family. My nasty brother Lanford had it but got cured by his long-lost daughter Windra. And now that I have the very same disease, Windra is nowhere to be found. He’s kidnapped her, I suspect, just to get keep her from donating some of her bone marrow to me. For surely she would, being the good girl she is.
And rather than use the little time I have trying to find her, I’ve decided I will die with some dignity by making a soap opera.
Yes. You heard me. A soap opera. My very own, of my creation. Cast by me, directed by me, produced and written by me. I have the money and the means. All the actors have been cast. And blackmailed. Including a cat named Starry Knight.
That’s where Henrietta comes in. I’d like to have Starry embark on a lesbian storyline I’m developing for Cada Manana Soy Yo–that’s the name of my show. It translates to Every Morning I’m Me. Don’t get the wrong idea: The show is hardly about homosexuals. But I would like a slight dyke bent to the story.
I know it’s practically inconceivable for you to loan out one of your puppets for such a daring storyline. But that’s my whole point for making this show. I want to leave my mark. I want to go out with a bang. I want this show to sear itself indelibly into the American public. America is most certainly ready for the interwoven story I am about to tell. Filming starts in a week. I’m wasting no time.
Sincerely,
Guesty Anne Thrope
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