This is truly a classic love story about dead monkeys, Yoo-Hoo and the best guy I’ve ever known.
My friend Emily and I were having brunch at Fred ‘62 some time ago when she called up a girl she’d met the night before to join us and to see if she could work some magic and set the two of us up. Emily owed me big time because I’d let her live on my couch for a month or two or three or four. I’ve kind of lost track. The girl, who lived around the corner came to the table groggily insisting she was still a little drunk from the night before (and I have no doubt it was true) and after we met and exchanged pleasantries, she insisted that order for her, which I did. Silver dollar pancakes.
The conversation jumped around a bit that morning, and the few highlights were about “The Neverending Story”, a movie I didn’t remember as well as I tried to pretend I did; how she used to keep a dead monkey in a refrigerator; and spam email, how often she received spam email and how much she liked it when she got spam email. Upon leaving, she gave me her business card, which featured a ghost from Pac-Man and told me the best way to get in touch with her was email. Later that day, I emailed her about “The Neverending Story,” and spam email with the subject line: “100 uses for a dead monkey.” I wrote like twenty drafts of the email until I got it right. An excerpt:
I was going to send you an email disguised as a penis enlargement offer, but then I thought your email program would think it was really spam, and then it would never get to you AND you would never know how to enlarge penises. And then nobody wins.
But her email program did think it was spam and I never heard from her again.
No that would be really sad.
Her email program did think it was spam and I never heard from her again until several days later. Time was of the essence because I was going away to Paris the following Monday and I wanted to hopefully have a date with this girl and not only because she once kept a dead monkey in a refrigerator. She was also really pretty. So we made plans. Instead of flowers, I brought a Yoo-hoo and a box of Nerds, because that was the guy I wanted to be. But my plans were foiled when the date wasn’t really a date at all. She invited our now mutual friend Emily along, and then a couple of other people. And I never saw her again.
No, I did. She invited me to brunch the next day. Along with my friend Emily. This was a weird pattern. She wanted to go to the library afterward and I came along. Only it was Sunday, and the library wasn’t open. This is true of almost every library and it usually sucks but on that day it was a real lucky break. My Yoo-hoo and Nerds were left unconsumed from the night before so we decided to enjoy them on her balcony. Then we had what could be called our first date. And she wanted it to be in costume (see above.) We drank blue drinks at Ye Olde Rustic Inn (named that way because they sell blue drinks like they did in colonial times.)
The next day I went to Paris and I wrote her almost every day as I sat below the Eiffel Tower. When I came back we saw each other again, and then again, and then every day since. And now we live together and I read her nonfiction books about serial killers every night as she falls asleep (this is true.)
That first meeting at Fred ‘62 was two years ago today and we celebrated by going there this morning. We were probably the only couple celebrating an anniversary at that place this morning. At the most, maybe two others were. The pancakes were just so-so. The company was perfect.
Thank you Allis for my two best years, and every best day that will follow. With love…