Disclaimer: Despite my sister's belief that I am Slappy Squirrel in human form, I do not own the characters. They belong to Warner Bros.

Hello, hello. I always wondered about how Slappy was in her younger years. This is my version of why she is still a single woman (well, squirrel). If you don't know the Animaniacs, this will not make any sense.

Please enjoy!

Short of Veena Waleen and Skippy, there is no person in this world that I care about enough to not subject to utter torment. Except, of course, one.

That's why I didn't marry him in the winter of 1942. We had met on a mutual project. I was always attracted to the predatory ones. (What can I say?) The spark was instant. Marriage was the inevitable conclusion.

We had meticulously scheduled it around my cartoons and his work. I was going to wear white.

I never wear white.

Anyway, I maintain that I did not get cold feet the night before our union. Slappy Squirrel does not get cold feet. I just realized something.

In thirty years, if we were still married, I would be one of those horrible wives. The ones that walk around all day in curlers that they will never take out because they have no event to go out to that would require curly hair. I would wear a pink bathrobe and live with him in a dirty little apartment in the bad section of town. We'd have mix-matched china because so much of it had been shattered in fights and I would never stop talking about how I could have been something. In those days, married actresses had half the career-expectancy as single ladies.

He deserved an equal chance.

I had my career. I was still young and my back didn't ache and I could go around and have any and every director begging me to perform in their film. What would I be giving up if I married and settled down? I wouldn't be able to get into a sound stage if I catapulted myself through the window.

How could I give up what I had spent my entire life on in one short instant? I was at the height of my career. He was finally breaking into everything, tasting what had been denied him forever. And we couldn't give that up.

I wouldn't give that up.

So I left for New York City three hours before my wedding. I wore a disguise for a month and a half so that no one would ever see me, know where I was. I left no note. Nothing. Just disappeared.

I like to think that he never got over me. I never got over him.

When I had finally worked up the courage to return to Burbank, it was like I had never met him. Directors begged me to work. The media drank me up, screamed questions about my work, my thoughts, my almost-marriage. My throat hurt from saying "no comment" constantly. I caused no personal sensations. The marriage and possible ruin of Slappy Squirrel was lost to the world of film in two weeks' time.

And we worked together. Danced our dance. I was illusive as ever, he continued to follow me. It was the only time I was ever happy. But after two weeks of trying to apologize to him, trying to explain and ask forgiveness, I stopped trying, angered at his stony silence and his defeated glares.

But I never married, never dated anyone else. Neither did he, to my knowledge.

And I watch my old cartoons on my television in my comfortable, clean home in Burbank, my nephew coming to see me everyday. I'm still a rich woman. I never curl my hair or wear a pink bathrobe. My china matches.

I never question my decision. I did the right thing. The right thing for everybody.

I'm never wrong.

I just wish that I could marry now that I am old and alone. But he's bitter now (not unlike myself, really). And he doesn't love me enough anymore. I destroyed our chance.

But he is remembered, immortalized in our films.

I am immortalized.

And that's why I never married the love of my life, Walter Wolf.

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Until next time, this is Semine, signing off.