As each morning dawns a poor, beleaguered, oppressed, stalked soclialite-lite Jill Kelley awakens in her Bayshore Boulevard manse and begins her day roaming the moors of Tampa in her quest for privacy.
She "vants" to be alone, the Greta Garbo of the Big Guava yearns.
So much does Kelley crave the solitude, the solace, the warm security of merely being yet another private person that she is willing to tell anyone who will listen, especially the New York Times, Washington Post and the federal court system to please, please leave her alone.
Would anyone be surprised if Kelley eventually shows up on The View or Entertainment Tonight and co-hosts Saturday Night Live, just to make sure everyone gets the clear unambiguous message that under no circumstances is she remotely interested in talking about her private life?
In fact so committed is Jill Kelley to a Thomas Pynchonesque anonymous life that she invited the New York Times over to the house recently in preparation for a lengthy piece about how much she values her iron-clad seclusion, including a color photo of her protecting her privacy on the front page of the paper, followed by another picture of the Perle Mesta of Hyde Park inside the paper along with her husband, Dr. Scott Kelley, fighting tooth and nail to zealously guard her private life.
Isn't this just a bit like a clinically obese person insisting they truly want to lose weight as they plow through a pizza, bowls of pasta, cheeseburgers and fries all washed down with some Diet Coke?
It is always worth repeating that the only person responsible for violating Jill Kelley's sacred privacy is Jill Kelley.
For it was Kelley who instigated a tawdry chain of events when she contacted the FBI to report she was getting threatening emails from, as it turned out, Paula Broadwell, the biographer and paramour of then-CIA Director Gen. David Petraeus, whom the Kelleys knew from the lion of the boudoir's posting at MacDill Air Force Base.
Up until 13 months ago the Kelleys had become minor figures on Tampa's social scene by hosting lavish parties at their Bayshore home for various bigwigs at MacDill.
Kelley easily could have contacted Petraeus about the Broadwell emails (which, it could be argued, the general would have preferred) and let the head spook deal with the issue. But nooooooooooooo!
Once the FBI got involved in a matter concerning a key player in the country's national security who could theoretically be subject to extortion and blackmail over his personal indiscretions, all bets were off the table.
As we know, eventually the events set in motion by Kelley exploded in the public eye. A humiliated Petraeus was forced to resign, a stellar career and a formerly unblemished reputation for integrity imploded.
Jill Kelley never figured what would happen, not once the story became public, but once it became an official law enforcement investigation?
Now Kelley wants to use the very media she sheds faux tears over for invading her privacy to become some sort of dubious champion of privacy rights? This would be like an NFL running back complaining about how much it hurts to get tackled.
The J.D. Salinger of Tampa bemoans her inability to even go to the grocery store for fear of more intrusions into her private life. Please.
Jill Kelley would be well on her way to the privacy she wants if only she would simply just please shut up. Then she'll be forgotten before you can say: D-list celebrity.