I have been trying to type you for the last five minutes, but Henry keeps walking across the keyboard. He is in the mood for love. Simply because I'm near him. And perhaps because he is hungry.
He keeps purring and rubbing his head on me, so who am I to not pet his orange self?
Obsessed Henry aside, I gathered you all here today to tell the story about Marvin. I know some of you have read my whole blog, and even my old blog (byebyebuy.blogspot.com, in case you didn't know), so you know the story of Marvin and how I met him and trapped him into marrying me. But not everybody does.
When I was a teenager, I used to dream of my perfect man. He would have dark, curly hair (I do not know why), he would be smart, funny, and slightly neurotic. Think of if Pa Ingalls had Woody Allen's personality. I always hoped that I'd meet said man and we'd end up talking all night. Because that's what girls fantasize about, my four male readers. We fantasize about TALKING all night. I am sorry.
What I did not know at the time, because I was in fricking SAGINAW, MICHIGAN, was that what I was really looking for was a Jewish man. I mean, I hate to stereotype, but come on. Once I got to Michigan State, I got put into the Jewish dorm for some inexplicable reason (they had kosher food. That's what I mean by the Jewish dorm. It wasn't, like, Sol Goldstein Hall or something), and after, oh, eight hours there I was all, "Ohmygod! I LOVE JEWISH MEN!"
So started my lifelong fetish for the Chosen People. I also kind of have a fetish for broad-shouldered, shaved-headed African American men, but that is a whole 'nother June's love life post.
My entire freshman year I spent crushing on various boys in my dorm, but do you know what did not happen? Even though we knew all the same people, even though there is no way to explain it? What did not happen, even once, is I DID NOT MEET MARVIN EVEN THOUGH WE LIVED IN THE SAME DORM. He was friends with one of my BOYFRIENDS. His best friend had a HUGE crush on one of my good friends! And yet? We never met.
We sound like that couple in When Harry Met Sally, don't we? "He was on 142nd Street. I was on Fordham Road. And we neva met. Can you believe that?"
Marvin and I wonder how many times we were in line together in the cafeteria. We wonder if we were ever down in Middle Earth at the same time, ordering nachos. (Middle Earth was this little restaurant in the basement of our dorm, and above the door it read, "Friendship is offered to all who enter Middle Earth." Okay, it was 1984. The whole Middle Earth hobbit thing could not have been more outdated.)
(Middle Earth. Good gravy.)
Anyway, do you know when we met? The first day of the SECOND year of Michigan State. My roommate said, "Let's go off campus where these guys I know have what is soon to be a very unsanitary house."
As soon as we got there, I saw him. And I'm telling you. You know that annoying overused sound effect where the needle scratches across the record? That totally happened in my head. Everything stopped. He had curly dark hair (yes, I know it's not curly anymore. I think it is too short now to be curly) and he was CUTE CUTE CUTE. Oh! I knew he was it. I KNEW!
I was smitten with the Marvin.
So guess what I did. I'll tell you what I did. I whipped out my personality.
You know what? It took me years, YEARS to figure out that funny female does not equal sexy. I mean, you never hear anyone say, "I have ALWAYS wanted to hump that Lucille Ball." And she's actually PRETTY, Lucille Ball. There is something about funny that does not draw in the men. But I did not know this in 1985 when I was trying to reel in the Marvin. Oh, I got out my best material. I was non-stop. It was all June, all the time over there at Marvin's unsanitary house.
When I left? He said, "Well. Wasn't SHE Miss Funny."
The entire year I spent wishing Marvin would show up at parties or that we'd cross paths, and whenever we did, "HELLO MY BABY, HELLO MY DARLIN', HELLO MY RAGTIME GAL!" Oh! Personality plus, over here. And Marvin would be all, "Yeah. Um, hi." Which only made me HEART HIM MORE.
I'll tell you when that yahoo finally gave me the time of day. SPRING TERM. After I'd grown out my perm, dyed my hair blonder and had a tan. My friend and I went over to his HAZMAT house and man Polly, quit cryin', suddenly Marvin was SO ATTENTIVE. Whatever with his deep self.
And did I care that he only liked me when I looked cuter? No! Hell, no! I'd take Marvin any way I could get him. So we commenced to dating. That whole summer. Oh! I thought Marvin was the cat's meow. I'd DASH home from my pressing job as a restaurant hostess, FALL onto my answering machine button, HOPING he'd have called.
I liked me the Marvin. So bad.
One night, we were out with this other couple and I forget why, but we all ended up at Marvin's house, and the other couple fell asleep, and you know what Marvin and I did?
We talked all night. Until it was light out! Sigh.
And then? Marvin went away. He went to stupid BOSTON to school. He wasn't gonna stay at Michigan State anymore, that traitor.
So we broke up. It was the unprettiest breakup you have ever seen. The tears! The shouting! The beer bottles tossed about! Of course, all of that was me. Marvin remained his usual stoic self, and I knew I had TOTALLY BLOWN it when I had a dramatic don't-leave-me tizzy fit, and he calm.calm.calmly walked out of my house and drove away.
Tune in tomorrow for How I Got Marvin Back Ten Years Later and Then Ended Up Having to be Married to Him for All Eternity.
P.S. Oh! And I know I have you all on pins and needles and you're worried sick I'll never snag that Marvin again, but I did want to say Comment of the Week went to Bell. Well, really, Bell's kid.