An Open Letter to Mrs. Marcu

(The next two entries in the journal will discuss our time in Turku, Finland.)

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Dear Mrs. Marcu:

My apologies in writing to you if you don't exist. Since I'm a writer of fiction, that doesn't bother me as much as it might bother some. I also know your last name wouldn't be Marcu, because your alleged husband's first name is Marcu, but it's better than calling you woman who doesn't necessarily exist who may or may not be attached to the man that tried to pick Catrina and myself up in a bar in Turku, after we made it very clear that his attentions weren't wanted.

The day before I found out how sick my husband's father was, I came back from a day of sight-seeing with the declaration that I wanted to karaoke, as I had heard it was big in Finland. Catrina, trooper that she is, researched a great place in Turku, so we were ready for Tuesday night karaoke fever. Honestly, Mrs. Marcu, we wanted to play glow in the dark mini-golf, which was across from the hotel, but they had moved downtown, and then they were on vacation when we located their new location. It was just not meant to be.

So, we went to karaoke. The bar was kind of dead, but hey, it was Tuesday. We were in there, a couple of young women were in there, a folk singer was doing an interesting mix of English songs and English songs in Finnish. It's all good. We forked over two euros each, cozied up with a couple of strawberry ciders and waited until the karaoke started around ten.

Now, Mrs. Marcu, let me make this clear. Neither Catrina nor I were dressed very provocatively. Not that that matters, but you should know we weren't screaming available. Catrina looked nice, and I would go so far to say that I looked...frumpy that day. But Marcu gave us the eye across the room. I leaned over to Catrina and asked if she had activated her plus one ring of protection (the wedding ring) because I thought we were going to have company.

Marcu asked if he could join us.

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