That Girl

One of the footnotes to my "Mormon for Dating Purposes" story is the very worst crush (and boy that is the most appropriate word for it) on a girl that I've experienced, and probably will experience, in my life. (I count love as different than a crush, so my wife doesn't count.) The object of this crush - let's call her Madge Fogelstein - approached me at a party, a good couple years afterwards when I was dating the Mormon girl, and said, more or less, "hey sailor, drop your girlfriend off and come one back for a good time." That woman was nothing but a frustration for me. (And, in case you're wondering, I didn't.)

But years before, when I first saw her in the hallway at school, it was like in the movies. She walked in glossy, soft-filter, Technicolor slow-motion. Little cartoon animals flitted about her head and feet. She was the personification of female beauty. Those lips. Those eyes. That hair. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't walk. I was glad I had one of my large science texts with me.

I sat through the next class trying not to fall over or droll on my desk. Time flies when you're kinda dumb. It was even worse in my next class because SHE WAS IN IT! She sat up and to my right, directly in my sight-line. I practically vibrated for the full hour of that class every day for about a month.

It had been a couple weeks since my best buddy and I had gone out cruisin', what most bored teenagers with a driver's license do in small Midwestern towns. As soon as we set out, I was going to wax rhapsodic about my new wonderful agony. My buddy was typically not the talkative type right off the bat, but this time he said, "Have I got a story for you."

I said, "Oh. Well. Let's hear it," kinda bummed because I was ready to burst with my news.

"Yeah, well, have you been wondering where I've been these last couple weeks?"

"Yeah, I expected that you'd met a girl or something."

"Yeah, geez." [We grew up by Minnesota/Fargoland, so we talked like they do in the movie.] "I tell ya what. This chick has been taking me out and banging my brains out every damn night. I never thought I'd say this, but I'm actually tired of fucking! She even wanted to go out tonight! Thank God you called. I don't know what to do. I'm really tired of it."

"That must be a terrible situation, dude," I said, with all appropriate jealousy and utter lack of sympathy. "What's her name?"

"Madge Fogelstein. Know her?"

Long pause worthy of many adjectives and adverbs.

"Yeah. I've heard of her."

It always seemed, to me at least, that most crushes end in an experience much like pulling the silverware drawer out too far so it all lands on the feet: messy and painful in several unexpected ways.

____________________
update:
*rimshot!*

uh, that was meant to be funny. Because, in retrospect, it was. I can see where we might have some tone problems, though. I'll work on it....