Dear Don Draper: This is The Last Time I Give You Love Advice

Dear Don Draper:

I don’t know where to start. It’s like that moment in your life when you’re finally touching the hand of god, or at least what we consider god here on earth: You.

For months and months I’ve been craving your return. Whenever someone mentions your name or Mad Men, I drop what I’m doing and inquire: “What? Do you know something other than me? When is the show returning? Has Don realized my existence yet?”

But let’s get back to logistics. Recently I read an interview with some fella named Jon Hamm. Have you heard of him? This Hamm fella claims to play you on the “show,” and says he’s like an “actor” or whatever. He also said that you and Peggy will never get together. Although considering he’s a deranged lunatic who thinks he’s you, I’m inclined to disagree. His reasoning:

I think the Don-Peggy relationship is more of a kindred-spirit kind of thing. I think that what both Don and Peggy have in their makeup is a raw ambition. Don’s trying to escape this Depression-era life and past and move into a life of expansive cosmopolitan existence through the sweat of his own brow and, honestly, through the duplicitous nature of his existence. I think Peggy is also escaping the close-minded, parochial existence of where she comes from for what Manhattan represents—a bigger, brighter, better life. I think that Don identifies that in her and tries to help cultivate it. There is a tenuous but strong relationship there.

First of all, back the fucking bus up. Both you and Peggy, ambition aside, are empirically dark souls. You both have your secrets and even more importantly you know them about each other. Besides Peggy, who’s going to fuck Pete Campbell? No one. So despite the outcome, Peggy threw him a bone; a bone of which you know well. Because although you do not know the origin of her pregnancy, you inherently know Campbell sucks. Why? Because you’re Don.

So my reason for this letter is a simple one: if you don’t want to be with or at least bang Peggy, then can I have the honor?

Don, I’m just as ambition as Peggy (but with better hair.) I, like her, have moved to NYC with dreams of evolving past the life I knew beforehand. I’m not knocking my previous life, but I am saying that it’s somewhat closed mind and Manhattan has opened that mind. Do you want to know how short my skirt is at the moment? OK. Not that short, but it’s still shorter than Peggy’s skirts.

I firmly believe that us, the ones with a secret or two, belong together. I also firmly believe that your perfect looks and my sub-par looks could possibly even out to create one hell of a good looking baby. I’m sorry. Am I laying it on thick?

What it comes down to is you, my love, need someone. And although I may not be as tall as Megan, I, too, can speak fluent French, rock your world bedside, and when it’s called for, be a submissive wife of the 1960′s. Also, your kids, I can tolerate… especially Sally.

I’m not going to be crazy and make stupid threats, but I’m saying is if you won’t give Peggy a ride on the Draper train, please give me some consideration. I’m just suggesting consideration at this point. Stalking and kidnapping is the next stage; but that’s like weeks away. Don’t worry: I love you.

Best,

Amanda.

You can reach this post's author, Amanda Chatel, on twitter.
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