By Mollie Fermaglich

Dear Elon,

I know I’m much too old for you. I won’t get on a plane, let alone the SpaceX Rocket, and my taste in baby names leans more toward Michael and John, Elizabeth and Jane than X AE A-Xii, which sort of reminds me of algebra, which totally reminds me of middle school, which I’ve been trying to forget for decades. But, despite our myriad of differences, I love you, Elon Musk.

Alas, I know this love is one-sided, but that’s fine with me. Think Don Quixote and Dulcinea, Eponine and Marius, Charlie Brown and the Little Red-Haired Girl. Unrequited love is a pure, profound kind of love, and that’s a great rationalization. But it doesn’t matter – I still love you. No reciprocity necessary.

You are my super-hero and you don’t need a cape or mask, Spandex tights, the ability to leap tall buildings at a single bound, or a silly utility belt which, let’s face it, is just an 80s fanny-pack stuffed with hammock webbing. And, prior to your Twitter bid, you were the hero of every micro-brewing, artisan-cheese-eating, kombucha-drinking, Apple-gadget obsessed IT coordinator/ Systems Analyst/ Wireless Network Engineer, who now feel as though you’ve betrayed them. Are they just jealous? Does Chuck Schumer need distemper shots?

You are my John Peter Zenger, minus the fluffy, rat-infested white wig and poofy knickers. As opposed to Mark Zuckerberg, Defender of the Hoodie and the Smirk, you are the Defender of Free Speech. You will soon have Twitter Power Magic and, because of your high standards and sense of fairness, undoubtedly, you’ll lose some tweeters, but the way I see it, it’s a zero-sum game. Losing Chelsea Handler, Alyssa Milano and Chrissie Tegen, Debra Messing, Seth Rogan, Rob Reiner? Now that’s what I’d call an early Christmas present.

No doubt Hillary Clinton will leave, but not before posting, again, her victory speech for losing the 2016 election, which is like Snooki thanking the Nobel Prize Committee for the Nobel Prize in Literature that Saul Bellow won. Although she offends and lies and is scarier than Michael Moore in Spanx, you have to try and humor her, Elon. Do not – I repeat – do not upset her because the rumor is, she “disappears” people, and I’m not talking in a Breaking Bad “I need a dust filter for a Hoover Max extract pressure pro model 60. Can you help me with that?” kind of way. No secluded cabin in New Hampshire. No Omaha Cinnabon.

You, my dear Elon, have chosen to use your riches for the common good, creating a platform for everyone, and the Gender and Women’s Study and Intersexuality majors the world over, are seething, threatening to deactivate their accounts. If only they would deactivate their vegan underarm deodorant, which works as effectively as Kamala Harris.

They’re mostly upset because you have F-you money and they don’t and “It’s not fair!” Not since the Court of Louis VXI has there been a more entitled group and the only saving grace is we know how things ended for old King Louis. These young progressives are incredibly committed to their political convictions and all would follow you off that famous Acapulco cliff for a free Tesla.

I know I’m getting ahead of myself, Elon, because we don’t yet know if we’re even compatible. Favorite books? Music? Movies?   Cats or dogs? City vacay or beach? Hotdogs with mustard or ketchup? (If it’s ketchup, please disregard this entire letter). We have time to learn about one another, but your wisdom and foresight, sense of ethics and that winsome smile, tell me you’re my guy. And I know it’s true love because whenever I think of you, I get sweaty palms, stomach flips, heart palpitations. Forgive me for being so bold. I know that you’re incredibly busy with SpaceX and Twitter and Neuralink but, should you ever find yourself with a free moment or two, why don’t you sit down and tweet me sometime?

xoxo
Mollie