Have you heard the news? Gone With The Wind’s petulant heroine (Scarlett O’Hara) secretly put her thoughts to paper all those years ago! And now you’re privy to see what really went through her mind back then.
Dear Diary, I binged during the BBQ today at the Wilkes plantation and tonight my waistline measured a whopping nineteen inches around. But oohhh Ashley — he told me he likes to see a girl with a healthy appetite. So as God as my witness, I’ll never go hungry again! Oohhh Ashley! I love him so — even though he has sort of a girly name. But then there’s that scoundrel Mr. Butler who isn’t fit to wipe his boots. Imagine hiding out in the library eavesdropping on us. He should have made his presence known, but I’m sure the white vase I chucked into the fireplace was insured. Then he looked at me as if . . . as if he knew what I looked like without my shimmy on. Creeper.
Dear Diary, Gah! If I can’t have that mealy-mouth Melanie’s fiancé Ashley, then I suppose I’ll take her silly old brother, Charles Hamilton. We quickly tied the knot before he went off to war. War, war, war. Fiddle-dee-dee. This war talk is spoiling all my fun. Can’t anyone around here talk about anything else important? Like bonnets. At least Captain Rhett Butler didn’t enlist, but who cares what that dirty varmint does? I’m off to stay with Aunt Pittypat in Atlanta. OMG, what kind of a name is that? But I can’t think about that right now. If I do, I’ll go crazy. I’ll think about that tomorrow.
Today I had a “ball at the (liberty) bell,” and then I was the “belle of the ball.” At the dance, of course. Rhett actually bid on me — $150 in pure gold! Oooh, if I wasn’t such a lady, what I wouldn’t have told that coarse, conceited man. But since I am a widow in mourning and wearing all black, I figured I should show people how to put your own suffering aside for a good cause. I even donated my wedding ring after I saw Melanie slip off her own diamond from Ashley. Oh Ashley, Ashley, Ashley. How I wish I could give you a child. But I don’t know nothin’ ’bout birthin’ no babies.
Dear Diary, When you don’t have a thing to wear, you must never rule out trying on the window coverings. The emerald colored drapes made a fine, figure-flattering frock and I want everyone who has been mean to me to turn pea-green with envy. You just have to make sure to lose the gold tassels — a dead giveaway. I must remember to tell Maria Von Trapp in Sound of Music to use the curtains as play clothes for those seven brats she babysits. But I’ll think about that tomorrow . . .
Entries #5 thru #186 — illegible as they were charred to a crisp in the burning of Atlanta.
Dear Diary. I feel so lost and rejected. Nobody wants me now — not my darling Ashley, nor Rhett, and not even Charles or Frank or Mammy or Prissy. Where shall I go, what shall I do? Dear Diary, don’t you give a damn? I know! Who needs men? I should just marry my own handsome plantation, Tara. Why, land is the only thing in the world worth workin’ for, worth fightin’ for, worth dyin’ for, because it’s the only thing that lasts. Tara. Yes! I’ll go home to Tara. Because after all . . . tomorrow is another day. (Music rises)
Readers: What’s your favorite line from the classic movie, GWTW?