Goodbye Mr. Feller
When I was six I used to go to a baby sitter named Ramona. She was stuck in the seventies and this was the mid eighties, so… long before the seventies came back into style she was sporting the polyester, and asking me and my brother to call her “pony”. I don’t know where “pony” related to Ramona, nor does my brother, but nerveless her name was Pony, and she served us crushed ice when we were sick. Her son’s name was Matthew, he was my age and not allowed to come down to breakfast until he took a BM. Literally this lady was so concerned about his regularity that each morning she would question him, as he stood from the top of the stairs, as we all watched, eating generic cereal, if he had in fact shit that morning…Only she called it a “BM” because maybe some how that made it ok… I still don’t eat cereal to this day.
I loved Pony’s son, regular or not, BM or no BM, he was my first love. We proved this to each other by eating a package of crayons together. I swore for years that is where the bumps on my tongue came from, and proved my later love of eating chap stick. I love Pony’s son though because he ate crayons for me and I imagine that shit clogged him up for weeks.
Shortly after I fell in love with Mic… Mic was really Mike, but I wrote about him as Mic in my second grade journal… I spelled then, much as I do today. I loved him because the boy hair cut my mother got me was much like his, and I guess I could never figure out if I was the ugly girl or he was the feminine boy… either way I loved Mic. Following Mic was my neighbor Nate. A few years older then myself I used to dance with him in his basement to Debbie Gibson and Martika. He turned out to be gay, no wonder why he kicked my ass when he read my third grade journal saying I loved him.
Time would pass and I would love Todd, fuck Dan and make out with and now former Mr. Idaho in his back seat. Let’s just say his back seat wasn’t the only thing that was small.
I met a Matt one of many who I would fall in love with manipulate and move on from. He did however own a water bed, and this was way past the times of water beds. Not the cool kinds with shelves and shit underneath but still a water bed.
After him came a really old guy, or at least really old for my age. He got a pair of my panties out of it, and I got this really cool sweatshirt, and the memory of dating a guy twice my age who was a child psychologist. Keeping in mind I was a child when we met.
Then there was another Matt who dressed as if he had a large load in his pants. I loved him for about two minutes but dated him for like a million more.
There was an Indian guy who was hot as hell but smelled like shit. A man who kissed me as if he was a lizard.
A boy named Jayson who I lived with and loved and am still fixing my credit from.
Then I met Mr. Feller different from the rest and refused to love me back. And told me he never could because and I quote him, “I could out drink him, out smoke him, and was funnier than he”… and these were all qualities his woman could never be.
And year later I met him, my him… and he was just him, he wasn’t the future Mr. Idaho, and he didn’t make me eat crayons for him (only dog biskets but that was only once and I swore I would never tell) and he loved me for out drinking him, out smoking him and being funnier.
So I must say Mr. Feller goodbye… I am getting married in a week. And I know you would say something so practical as the “odds are against us “ however keep in mind you are the one who taught me to play roulette. The one game where the odds are always against you. And you are the one who taught me, “always play the black 17” Well Mr. Feller, that black 17 has made me many a dollars over the past few years. And him, he is my black 17, technically, logically and statistically he should let me down, but he never does.
Goodbye Mr. Feller, apparently the odds are against you!
