The Pink Pantheress
A gentleman would never presume to query a ladybird about her age, but this gentle man — Yours Truly, Dooley® — would be remiss if he didn't acknowledge that today is the birthday of the original Pink Lady® — the Grande Mum of English letters — one Barbara Cartland, born July 9, 1901 in Edgbaston, Birmingham. The only daughter and eldest child of British army officer Major Bertram Cartland and wife Polly “Wants-A-Cracker-And-Creme-Soda” Hamilton, young Barbara began writing her tales of virginal heroines and blue-balled suitors prior to her first menstrual cycle. Cartland's first husband Alexander McCorquodale claimed that Barbara was repulsed by the mechanics of sexualized intercourse and refrained from lighting upon the subject in her tales and, alas, their bedroom. (Social intercourse, as anyone familiar with her chatty, Victorian-era fare will attest, carried no such restrictions.) However, second husband Hugh McCorquodale — the bloody cousin of husband number one — appears not to have had any difficulties "coursing internally" with his missus — having properly hot-wired the toggle switch, as it were, resulting in the birth of three children, not to mention a step granddaughter, one Diana, Princess of Wales. Cartland was criticized by detractors for churning out “bathroom fare” and was the victim of a smear campaign — perpetrated by her self-pleasuring ex-husband — that saw "Bar" writing her paperback potboilers whilst sitting atop the potty, but her fans paid it no mind. Her titles included "Love Hurts," "Love Scars," "Love Wounds (And Marks)" and outside of the horrible, hackish American adman turned paperback publishing king-or-rather-push-pin James Patterson, there has been no challenger to Ms. Cartland's record as the most prolific author in the 20th century. Some 723 novels in all — nearly a billion copies in print — and I'll wager that Plaster Patterson himself — nor his crew of sentence bungling associates such as Maxine Pietro and Richard D. Lallo — never read one lick of her superior prose! Barbara passed away in May of 2000, however her new novel, “Love Never Dies,” is said to be writing itself and seeking literary agent representation. Rest assured, we're saving a spot for it atop the station house toilet tank! R.I.P. and Happy "Bar-thday," Citizen Pink Pantheress™.
