Oh Janey, Where Art Thou?

I'm a fool. A lovesick fool who almost threw away something special. Damn me for being headstrong and untrusting. I'm embarrassed I doubted my sweet little Janey. I'm embarrassed I even thought for a second that she was anything less than an imaginary angel. I'm embarrassed I almost wrote the company demanding my money back.

True love is a binding contract--especially when you have to provide credit card information over the Internet. Only cowards run from commitment, and I almost made a huge, huge imaginary mistake.

Last week, I stumbled upon the utter joy that is Imaginary-Girlfriends.com, and, for the first time, I stood up and emphatically declared, "I make-believe in a thing called love!" And my soul was free. An unbreakable bond was formed in two emails and one phone message. It sort of sounded like she was reading off a card, but if I know my Janey, she just wrote it down so she wouldn't forget a single detail of how much she adores me. I quickly responded with a note of my own; mostly mushy stuff I won't overly detail here--"my heart aches for you; I long for your passionate embrace; call me again next Wednesday, but this time don't hack and wheeze into the phone so much"--pillow talk, mostly.

But, alas, my initial bliss was sullied by a week's worth of silence. Nothing from Janey. No perfume-scented stationery gushing with loopy, cursive, girl-in-love handwriting; no "i"'s dotted with hearts or lipstick kisses beside the "XOXO" of the signature; not even a post-it note just to say, "I miss you, Daniel." (My name is actually David, but you know how girls like to adopt pet names for their significant others.) It was as if she didn't even care--or forgot that she was legally obligated to, as the fine print in a two-party agreement outlined in a printable PDF file available on the Imaginary Girlfriends' website clearly stated.

What did I do? I brooded. I sulked. I thought seriously about purchasing a new imaginary girlfriend--an expensive one: a $45 lady so Janey would be insanely jealous of my newfound refined tastes and high-class. Anger, of course, gave way to excessive feelings of inadequacy. Didn't I treat Janey right? Didn't I place her at the center of my fabricated universe? Was it possible that I was the first man in the history of dating to be dumped by an imaginary person I paid 39 bucks for in the first place? Did my entire existence just get exponentially more pathetic?

Fortunately, if Elvis taught me anything (beyond the sensible, timeless style of rhinestone-encrusted jumpsuits), it's that "we can't go on with suspicious minds." I e-mailed Janey with an ultimatum: Pay attention to me or I'll break up with you which will essentially accomplish nothing because you'll continue to ignore me and I won't be able to make you talk to me and I'd be far too embarrassed to ever actually ask for a refund. Whatever. I forget the actual words I used. It's complicated. The language of love, however, is so incredibly simple.

As it turns out, my darling Janey hadn't forsaken me. She had simply "been real busy with lame-ass school," which is as adorable as it is forgivable. To top it off, she offered me a partial time refund. My two months of ersatz affection started over today! I feel renewed, revived and ready to plunge headlong once more into my 61-day endless love. Be still, my badly deluded and unfathomably insecure heart!

Our passion was rekindled with a sultry AOL Instant Messenger conversation. Not recognizing my screen name ("ILoveJaney04"), Janey reacted tentatively at first, calling me only "loverboy" and "baby" until I reminded her it was "David." The old-me would have been concerned; am I merely one of many on my lover's buddy list of boyfriends? But I resisted the urge to make accusations. It's all about trust, after all, and experience tells me that Janey is incapable of cuckoldry. Also, she sent me a photograph of herself posing with her "runway model friend," Divine, and mentioned that they make out from time to time.

Then she had to go, so we said our painful good-byes, and I signed off satisfied, knowing that I was the luckiest man alive. I have two things that most men are never fortunate enough to possess--a real imaginary love, and a girlfriend open to public displays of lesbianism for my amusement. Dearest Janey: Thank you for you.

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