Dear Don Draper,
It’s been seventeen months since you jilted us like one of your supposedly expendable honeys.
So now you saunter back with your tailored suits, your martini lunches, your afternoon trysts on the office couch, your smoker’s cough and your smooth-as-silk advertising copy.
Well, Don. Pour yourself a drink, but don’t get comfortable.
We don’t have time to explain because we’ve got to go, we’ve got to leave the farm, now.
While you’ve been clicking through slide-shows of the1960s, we’ve had to deal with the 21st century collapse of the economy. And this new world is more about fighting zombies than chasing skirts.
It’s a world without a house in the suburbs or business/ pleasure trips to the West Coast or Italy. No bachelor pad in the city. No spoiling your daughter with tickets to The Beatles.
This new world swelters under the Georgia sun. All the cities and towns have been abandoned. The cars are stranded on the highways. We live inside of tents. Our children learn how to not be children.
We never know when we’ll have to leave everything behind. We don’t get drunk often.
Yes, you had your own collapse in the 1960s. Yes, your life of privilege can’t last.
There will be women who are not your secretaries and/or your wife. There will be people of color who don’t bring you vichyssoise or take care of your children.
But we keep waiting for you to deal with all of this. Because when everything falls apart in your world, someone does the Charleston or gets engaged to their secretary or passes out drunk.
Oh, you were seductive. We knew the world was falling apart when we met you. But we wanted illusions. We wanted to drink, smoke and fuck. We wanted to wear your suits. We wanted to be the girl in the pencil skirt.
Yes, you were lying to yourself. We know the good life is not what it appears to be. Unmarried women get pregnant. Men change their names and become someone else. Housewives sleep in their party dresses.
This is not to say that we won’t watch, and that we won’t be curious about where you end up.
But we have lost your predilection for secrets.
Extramarital affairs, walkers in a barn, what really happened with Otis, what Jenner told Rick at the CDC — secrets don’t keep well during a zombie apocalypse.
And we can’t keep waiting for you, Don Draper. We have to get through these woods full of walkers. We never sleep.