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     In 1954, the first star fell from the sky. Small town Ohio in the backyard as a family of four watched it plunge into the soft ground and sputter, like an engine without gas. The lights across town went out for three hours. During that time sixteen televisions, nine VCR’s, two cars, a limo, an ice cream truck, and four giraffes were stolen. Nothing was ever recovered.

     Later that year, four more fell. One in Texas at a drive-through liquor store, one in California just off Highway 1, one in Utah and one off the southern tip of Florida near a retirement home. Three people died that night. All in Florida. All deaths directly related to the falling star and failing hearts.

     A team of ten scientists were dispatched directly from the White House to collect and examine the fallen stars. None of them lasted longer than a year.

     Tom fell in love and headed for Mexico with one of the stars where he was gunned down by Federales. Neither his cocaine or star were ever recovered.

     Sandy ate an LSD laced brownie in California and gave her star to a fiendish pack of hippies as payment. She has recently been seen selling seashells near the remnants of the Ewok village from the film “Star Wars: Return of the Jedi” somewhere in the redwood forest. Her star was never recovered.

     Michael was committed to an asylum in 1955, claiming that all of the stars would one day fall and the wishes of all the children across the world would go unanswered and the nursery rhyme would fade into obscurity. His miniature piano can still be heard throughout the halls of the asylum, playing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” over and over and over and over.

     Alex, Blanche, Curtis and Norman all found God and threw their star into the ocean. It was the only one ever recovered and sits in a deep dark dungeon underneath Congress.

     Mary returned to Washington D.C. where she still lives today. Her thirteen cats, six dogs, eighty-five goldfish, and seven turkeys keep her company. They are all named Star.

     Richard stayed in Florida at the retirement home. He scuba dives everyday and has a wonderful tan. All of the old ladies love when he takes his shirt off and walks the beach. His favorite color is red and he only taps his foot to acid jazz saying, “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

     The final scientist, Hank, lost his star somewhere in the deserts of New Mexico. He is also the only one to give a final report:

     “What we found was confusing and downright foolish. The star doesn’t care where it falls or when it falls. It doesn’t care what wish it grants, only that it grants one. It could be a wish from when you were a child or a wish you have yet to wish for. The only thing I know for sure is that Sandy was never the same after that brownie and Michael very well may be the only one that truly knows what the future holds, despite the fact that he is a fucking lunatic.”

     Richard’s star was never recovered.

Sure I’m single. But yikes, who wants to deal with all the stress of a Valentine’s Day date?! Give me a good book, some hot tea, a little light jazz on the radio, a comfy couch, maybe a few chamomile candles, a Meg Ryan movie on Netflix, my cat Whiskers on my lap, a foot jacuzzi, a neck pillow, a warming lumbar supporter, a little soft rock on a second radio, one of those machines that makes ocean noises, a sweater, my other cat Douglas on my thighs, a pair of those sunglasses old people wear that block light on the sides as well as the front, this forehead stimulator thing I saw in Sky Mall once, an air horn, vibrating slippers, an artificial waterfall, a metronome, a stack of very difficult crossword puzzles, laundry, a bathrobe to go over my sweater, some heavy curtains, my cats Kirby, Tugger and Striper curled up on my chest, a little Prodigy on a third and fourth radio, a white noise machine, one of those things that rapidly flips all the lights in your home on and off all day, earplugs, a sleep mask, four TVs all on different channels with the volume way up, headphones, another cat on top of my head, a series of prime numbers to repeat and a Pure Moods CD any day.