Dear Jim and Doc,
I am just a random grad student and blogger, and have very little clout in this world. Nobody knows my name, and even those who know it rarely manage to pronounce it properly. I have no money, no assets, no fame, and no political power, and I tell you what: that is a crying shame. Because you know what I'd do if I had any of that money and power and fame? I'd give you both a Nobel Prize. Not for peace, not for amazing and important scientific contributions to the world, not for any of those things that people with money and fame and power routinely award people prizes for. No, instead I'd award you a Nobel Prize for Making Me Feel Like a Princess. I'd arrange an award ceremony in which Salma Hayek, Sophia Loren, and Marilyn Monroe all magically appear in the prime of their youth and voluptuous bounty to hand you each a golden statue of indeterminate design. Photographers would take your picture and crowds would ooh and ahh, everyone wishing they were your friend too, so they could just stand near you and absorb some of the hallucinogenic glow of your dazzling personalities. And when reporters asked you just exactly what you had done do deserve such glory, such acclaim, such fanfare, you would simply smile modestly and tell a story that goes like this.
"Well," you'd begin, "there's this girl named Cheasty." Reporters would scribble madly in their notebooks, and ask each other how to spell Cheasty. "Somehow during our time in Nicaragua, the three of us became good buddies, you see, and when we realized that Cheasty was about to leave us, we decided to throw her a little special shindig, a last hurrah to send her off properly."
At that point the reporters would be distracted because a door would suddenly gust open, almost by magic, as if invisible fairies had swung them wide. The air would begin to shimmer and sparkle, and a collective gasp would arise from the gathered throng as none other than I, the dazzling and gorgeous diamond-studded Amazing Cheastypants, waltzed into the room, followed closely by my acres and acres of shiny beautiful bouncy hair. "Oh, Amazing Cheastypants!" my adoring public would clamor. "Tell us the story in your own words. How did Doc and Jim make you feel like a princess?" I would laugh, an intoxicating sound, by all accounts, and fill them in on what was one of the most wonderful days of my life.
"Well," I began in a breathy and sexy voice, "it was simply marvelous. And the best part was that I had no idea it was coming! I'd phoned Doc and Jim to let them know I was coming to León, and I'd made plans to stay at La Perla, my favorite hotel in the whole wide world, and I'd mentioned that it might be fun to go to the beach, but whatever, maybe just we could have dinner together before I left Nicaragua forever? Well, they went so far beyond themselves that I am still practically speechless. First of all, when I arrived at the hotel there was an enormous bouquet of flowers waiting for me with a sweet note from Jim and Doc, telling me how much they'd miss me. The first flowers any man, or in this case men, have ever given me, if you can believe that. And when I checked in to my hotel room I found that Jim had booked me not just in any old little room, but in the Presidential Suite with private balcony! Gasps, shivers, oh how wonderful it was! I could go into poetic turns about how lovely, how elegant, how completely delicious this room is, but that's boring to read. Treat yourself to a weekend at the Perla and go check it out yourself.
"So I'm not really sure that words can capture the wonderfulness of the rest of that day, honestly," I'd say to the assembled paparazzi, while you two guys stood modestly by. "It wasn't just what they arranged for us to do, but the special touches they put on everything. We went to the beach, but not just to the beach, to the private beach house of a friend of Jim's, with a swimming pool and sea kayaks, and the most comfortable and amazing lounging chairs in the history of the universe. Doc and I braved the wild blue Pacific surf to paddle out on the ocean in the kayaks and spent lovely hours under the sun, riding the swell, dangling our feet in the water, and surfing the waves on our way back in. We had roasted chicken and rum and coke, and swam in the pool and played a hotly contested game of Trivial Pursuit, which I was lucky enough to win due to the sheer accident of having read an article the week before about knife making. What's the common name for a ferrous alloy with a minimum of 10% chromium content by mass? Stainless steel, thank you very much. Hooray! We laughed, we cried, it was better than Cats. And as the sun started to set we packed stuff up and headed back to town, where I soaked in a hot bath (ooooooh, shivers of delight), napped like a pasha, and generally wallowed in the voluminous folds of my super-awesome complimentary terrycloth bathrobe in the air conditioning. There was room service dinner on my private balcony, good conversation, and the generally warm feeling of being among people who care for you and will miss you when you're gone. In short, I felt like a princess."
And then the paparazzi, sated with news and pushed to make their deadlines, would disperse into the night and the three of us would be standing there, and I'd give you both the biggest hug a girl can give, and I'd say, "Thank you, Jim. Thank you, Doc. You gave me a day to remember, a day that for the rest of my life will make me feel special and cared for and loved, and I'll never forget it. You are princes among men, and even as I sit here in the States in a cool and climate controlled room with a glass of lovely red wine at my side, I am nostalgic for the good times we had. I will miss you so much, and anxiously await the day when our paths cross again."
Be well and stay safe, my friends. You are ever in my thoughts.