Readers' Submissions

Thai Thoughts and Anecdotes Part 298

  • Written by Dana
  • July 16th, 2011
  • 7 min read



Introduction:

Ever fallen in love? Well, have you ever fallen in love with a Thai woman? Ok, now we have listeners. I have. I have fallen in love with a Thai angel, and I don't mean a love affair of the one hour kind. I mean lifetime. And beyond. A love that is like unalloyed gold. A love so pure that her husband does not mind. He knows it is pure love.

Her name is Fon. Below is her (our) story.

FON

Hello Dana fans: My heart is breaking as I write this. When the French knights were knocked from their horses to the muddy field at the Battle of Crecy in France the English archers could move downhill and shove small daggers between armor plates. Every human has an exposed place where another person can get to them.

A Thai woman named Fon has gotten to me. For years and years (and I thought forever) I was hopelessly in love with Lhadt. My friend David had sent me some pictures of the two of them as they traveled the world and spent time with each other. Respectful pictures of a Thai woman beyond improvement. Pictures of Lhadt holding onto the handlebars of a bicycle and smiling. That sort of thing. Lhadt was my angel, my dream, my reason for believing in all things good, and hopeful, and loving. Birds fell out of the sky and soi dogs stopped barking when Lhadt walked by. I have been in love with Lhadt for years. I thought it was a lifetime thing.

Then I saw a picture of Fon. My god, what kind of life am I going to have? I barely have the strength for this. I'm only a man and to be bounced from Lhadt to Fon is almost more than I can bear. But there it is. I have found another. Lying on my back in a muddy Thai field of love another Thai woman has come along and slipped her dagger of influence between my armor. I love Fon. No matter how strong and impregnable and focused we think we are there is always someone who can get to us.

There I've said it. Confessed. I feel sick. Sick for me and sick for Lhadt. I am scum. But there is no going back now. The wheel has turned. The future is now and I love Fon. No doubt Lhadt will never talk to me again and never smile at me again in my dreams, but there is nothing I can do. I'm just a leaf on the wind now and my wind is Fon. I love Fon. Oh god, I love Fon so much. Sometimes my love for Fon pains me so much I can hardly walk. I am stricken as my metabolism is so stressed that not enough oxygen can get to my muscles. The insides of my thighs burn and cramp, I can feel my heart's ascending aorta clamping down, and I start to lose my vision. Sometimes love can kill and sometimes I feel as if I'm dying. Dying in love. In love with Fon.

Pictures of Fon can be found on Dean Barrett's excellent website Deanbarrettthailand. com in the following places:

1. 15 January – 31 January — 2007
2. 1 March – 15 March — 2007
3. 1 March -15 March — 2008
4. 1 February – 15 February — 2009

Dean takes pictures of Fon who lives with her husband David in Essan. He goes to visit them and then we get to see pictures of Fon on his website. God bless Dean Barrett. I love this man. There is some mystery to this, however, for the careful photo observer. An engaging mystery that amounts to a code that has to be cracked. Information available but only to the loving alert Fon worshipper. I believe I have cracked the code. So, what code have I cracked? What mystery have I penetrated?

Just this–in picture after picture Fon can look amazingly different. In some pictures she looks young and innocent, and in other pictures she looks mature and all knowing. In some pictures she looks tall, and in other pictures she looks short. In some pictures she looks like a domestic goddess you would expect to be stirring soup or folding laundry, and in other pics she looks like an upscale urban princess who has never washed a dirty dish. In some pictures she looks like a woman who has never seen a camera, and in other pictures she toys with the camera like an international super model. It seems there are many Fons. Believe me when I tell you that this is true. I have printed out every picture and taken them over to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Cambridge so that I can look at them with their enhanced electron microscope (EEM).

How can this be? How can one woman look so amazingly different, and yet the same, in so many pictures? Research ensued. Scientists were enrolled. Money was raised. International committees engaged. Satellite photos taken. Geologists expert in plate tectonics questioned. Results? It seems that the Essan area where Fon and David live has an unknown geographic anomaly: to wit–a hidden Shangri-la valley two miles long and a thousand feet deep that no one knows about. The sheer walled French Oceanic valley sides are rich in verdure that surrounds a flower bedecked meadow of rich loamic soil and green grass. And what do satellite photos show on this meadow floor?

Fons. Hundreds of them. Like wild horses with long black flowing manes, tight stomachs, and taut muscled legs; Fons of every beautiful kind are running, and trotting, and cantoring, and galloping, and gambolling, and leaning against meadow and pasture fences with the hooded and happy sexy eyes of the world's premier femme fatales. How can this be? Stay tuned, because I have cracked the code (warning: you better sit down).

David, Fon's husband, is breeding Fons. He is not replicating them, he is breeding them. Hence all the wonderful varieties of Fons. Using himself as the breeding stallion he is producing Fons of every kind, and size, and exciting dream. Hence my puzzlement at first when I spotted pictures of Fon taken by Dean Barrett that looked so different from each other. I have cracked the code. David is breeding Fons the way a horse breeder produces beautiful horses. Deep in an Earthly Eden protected from polluting influences he is . . . well, just try to imagine what is going on.

No need to envy David. His time on Earth is so far outside the norm of male existence that envy is irrelevant. This man is a god on Earth, a colossus of testosterone and male luck beyond measure. One Fon in my life I can barely imagine and calculate; but to look out the window and see hundreds of Fons is heart stopping in concept. David, I am not worthy–I am not qualified to crawl in your shadow.

How can you find this Thai Eden of gambolling Fons? You can't, unless you can access military satellites and squeeze the photos through holographic cryptology programs. But isn't it great to know that such a place exists? Hundreds of young fertile beautiful Fons stretching, and striding, and posing in the sun. Some of them can even cook, and David never sleeps alone–like I said, you can't dream a dream this big.

Fon, I love you. Everyone of you. I know I'll never ride you with my hands buried in your mane, and I know I'll never wake up in your valley; but knowing the Thai sun warms your skin makes me very happy. Fon, I love you; every one of you. And David? What of him? Don't get me started. Why him instead of me? God, life is so unfair. I mean, just look at this guy in the pictures. How did this happen? How come he got the tap on the shoulder from life? Why him? Why not me?

And another thing: ah, just forget it. It's always another guy instead of me. Oh well, at least I can still dream. Dream of all the Fons rolling on their backs in a hidden sun dappled valley filled with laughter and the high pitched sounds of innocence and fated futures of acceptance and happiness and love. Happy happy Fons.

If I ever got an invitation to visit this valley I probably would not go. I know my limits. Hence the importance of Dean posting pics of Fon and Fons on his website. Dean, we need more pictures of Fon. And if David ever decides to start a company selling Fon T-shirts, and Fon coffee cups, and Fon hats, and Fon calendars, and Fon rugs, and Fon mud flaps for trucks, and life-size Fon sheets, and . . . well, just let me know. I'll be an investor and I'll buy everything. I see the future and it is Fon running for the president of Thailand and Thailand being renamed Fonland. Fonland. A place on Earth with Fons everywhere. Sweet Jesus on a cracker–wouldn't that be wonderful? Fon, I love and only you forever.

Sorry Lhadt.


Stickman's thoughts:

Away from Bangkok for the holiday weekend so no comments today.