Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Actually, I’m sure I’ve had more than 79 crushes in my lifetime. I just noticed that according to this blog’s labels, I’ve had 79 posts about crushes of mine. The true number may be more like 279, and I’m not ashamed of it. If you’re in three-digits of crushes and counting, you shouldn’t be either.
This week’s episode of the CBS comedy “How I Met Your Mother” really cracked me up. When asked by Barney if he fantasized about other women, Marshall said he couldn’t unless he first fantasized that his wife Lily had died. This daydream involved Lily’s contracting a long term case of fatal hiccups, and only giving up the ghost after a long struggle, attempts at miracle cures, and fundraisers. Then after “an appropriate amount of time,” Marshall finished grieving and granted Lily’s dying wish, moving on with his life to fondle a busty delivery girl. In other words, the justification portion of the fantasy was a good 20 times longer than the sex.
I’m with Lily; better Marshall should have let her live and just fooled around.
I am a huge fan of marital fidelity (having been a victim of marital infidelity), but when it comes to one’s interior life, I say, go nuts. No one ever did his/her spousal faithfulness a favor by squelching the sex fantasies (just ask your favorite fallen televangelist). Meanwhile, a [few] dozen fun little crushes will be a lot easier on your psyche than the one that grips you for years.
So, I’ve told you about a lot of my crushes on these pages, but for fun let’s just cover a few more I’ve not mentioned before. Today I’ll run down a few select choices from my junior high/high school years:
Beatle Boots. This guy wore pointy boots with those sorts of heels like the Beatles wore in their early years. No one else in the school was that self-confident. Well, the rest of him gave him plenty reason to be, but the boots were what put him over the top.
My Math Teacher. I developed a crush on him for two reasons: (1) He was especially nice to me. (2) I was halfway through high school and had never crushed on a teacher, and felt I was really missing out. It always happens in the movies.
My Creative Writing Teacher. A year later, and not so much in my control as the math teacher. She was a woman. I didn’t dream about sex with her or anything, I just wanted to be her, and for her to really, really like me. To the point that it hurt enough I knew it was a crush.
Half the Varsity Basketball Team. They were really cute, they were really good, they were so tall. Except the one short one, who by virtue of that was unique and special and even more awesome because he had to work so much harder. Oh, and this was the 70s, so their uniform shorts were really short. Those were the days.
My Cousin. And boy, this is one of those moments you hope your relatives don’t read your blog. I saw my cousin every five years or so, but now we were both into adolescence. We listened to music and he pretended to conduct it, which struck me as funky and very sexy. He had very nice brown eyes. The fact that the attraction was illegal made it all the more tragic and enjoyable.
The Kid I Babysat. Speaking of inappropriateness, I sat for three neighbor kids, and this boy was maybe three years younger than me and really too old to be babysat. We all got in a tickle fight. I went home with my 50 cents an hour feeling quite strangely giddy.
The French Exchange Student: He had a quirky, foreign-looking smile, looked great in a Speedo, and was, well, French. Usually simply being French is enough, you know?
The Guy at Lunch: He always leaned up against the same wall and I caught him looking at me more than once. That was sufficient to classify him as Mysteriously Inscrutible. I’m a sucker for inscrutability anytime.
Smile, Hair and Voice. When you’re an adolescent girl, a cute smile, a head of tousled curly hair, and one of the best tenor voices in the choir is enough. Actually, way more than enough. He played an old guy in the school operetta and still looked a luscious seventeen, if a bit distinguished.
Smile, Brains, and Sense of Humor. Or, those. They work too. He could be an intellectual or a goofball. I liked him so well I asked him out 18 years later after my divorce. I think I scared the crap out of him; or maybe he’d just lost the sense of humor.
Cool Name. This guy in my Physics class was named Roland. He was pretty cute, too, but Roland. Isn’t that excellent?
Are you starting to think it doesn’t take much? You mean cool name wasn’t enough for you? Or boots?
Hey, I was going to end up writing a bizillion stories about love and sex, I had to gather material.
And the Crushes label count is now 80.