I realised something the other day. Her agent, Diarmuid, has known Pamela for a long time, like he said. Which is actually about 30 years, considering that she wrote Mary Poppins when she was about 35 and that she’s in her 60’s now.
THAT’S A DAMN LONG TIME.
But still, he can’t call her Pamela.
And then this fucker Ralph shows up. AND SHE ONLY GOT TO KNOW HIM 2 FLIPPING WEEKS AGO. WAIT, HOLD UP. MAKE THAT LESS THAN 2 WEEKS BECAUSE SHE LEFT EARLIER BECAUSE THE PENGUIN SHIT. And then, when they have to say goobye (don’t touch me), she realises she doesn’t even know his name. So she asks him. AND THEN SHE BASICALLY GIVES HIM THE PERMISSION TO CALL HER PAMELA AND WHEN HE DOES, quitely but you can hear it, SHE DOESN’T PROTEST. NOT EVEN A LITTLE.
THIS IS A HUGE THING, PEOPLE. PAMELA NORMALLY DOESN’T LET ANYONE IN. EVER. SHE SHUTS PEOPLE OUT. Except for Ralph. She opens the door just that little bit for him.
Which means she trusts him. She trusts him more than her agent, with whom she has worked for 30 flipping years.
BUT RALPH DOESN’T NEED 30 YEARS TO GAIN HER TRUST. HECK. HE ONLY NEEDED LESS THAN 2 WEEKS AND HE GOT TO BE HER OFFICIAL FRIEND WHEN SHE RETURNED TO LA ONCE AGAIN, 3 F U C K I N G YEARS AFTER THAT. HE JUST SHOWS UP THERE. IN FRONT OF HER HOTEL. JUST LIKE THAT. HE DIDN’T FORGET HER. NOT ONCE IN THOSE 3 YEARS. AND THEY HADN’T TALKED TO EACH OTHER OR SEEN EACH OTHER IN THOSE 3 FFING YEARS.