Not the Marrying Kind
By Sarah Blodgett
Mike stumbled into my life on my first St. Patrick’s day after I turned 21. It is my firm belief that one should never be judged by the things one does the year they turn 21. Mike was one of those things. I wouldn’t say Mike was ever my boyfriend; he was more like my entertainment.
Mike was like an entire fraternity in one man. He drank like a fish, but if you called him on it, he would respond with, “I’m not an alcoholic, alcoholics go to meetings.” If a beer got spilled in his presence, he would proclaim that that was the definition of “alcohol abuse.” Yes, Mike would have been a frat boy, had he gone to college.
Mike was like a drunk puppy, when he followed me out of a bar the night I met him. It was St. Patrick’s Day and Mike had gone out for lunch to the first bar he could find that was serving corned beef and cabbage sandwiches with a beer chaser. When I got to the bar at 11pm that night, Mike was the first guy I noticed. He was wearing a “Kiss Me I’m Irish” t-shirt and green Mardi Gras beads that complimented his strawberry blonde hair and matching beard (it wasn’t a full-on ZZ Top, but was headed in that direction). He told me I was pretty, and that was all I needed to hear to be his arm candy for the rest of the night. When my friends decided to leave to go to Denny’s, our usual after-clubbing hangout, for their gourmet cheese fries and mozzarella sticks, Mike insisted on walking me to the car. It was actually more like me helping Mike to the car, since he couldn’t walk a straight line. But when we all got to the car, he just got in the back seat, and we were forced to drop him off at home.
I gave Mike my number and was shocked that he called me the next day. He confessed that he had been too drunk to remember what I looked like. Apparently, some of his friends that he had ditched at the bar said I was hot, so he figured he would call. A true romantic is hard to find.
Mike and I “dated” for about a month. As a sheltered former Catholic school girl (sorry, I don’t still have the uniform), I hadn’t had much dating experience, so I wasn’t aware that this “relationship” wasn’t normal.
Mike’s idea of a date was hanging out at his apartment. Surprisingly, he did have a nice apartment, but that was mainly because his roommate was a responsible man. Luckily, his roommate worked nights, so he didn’t have to be home to witness Mike’s antics.
A date with Mike always included lots of alcohol and porn. Mike was obsessed with porn. I know when I say this, men roll their eyes, because they always think I’m exaggerating, but Mike had porn on in his apartment all the time. It was like background music for him. In fact, Mike was so used to watching porn that he couldn’t watch a regular movie. If a scene ended without sex, he was very disillusioned, even if the scene involved a priest in a confessional.
God help the pizza delivery girls that would come to the house. Mike was convinced that they wanted him. He would hit on them so heavily that, every time he ordered pizza, a different girl showed up. I may have been the only girl stupid enough to show up at Mike’s place twice.
My time with Mike, unfortunately, coincided with the sequel to Austin Powers and the introduction of the character Fat Bastard. Mike bore a striking resemblance to him, and frequently exploited that by lifting his shirt, rubbing his large man boobs and beer gut, saying things like, “I’m dead sexy,” and, “get in my belly.”
Mike once told me that the only reason he talked to me the night we met was because of my blonde hair and big boobs. I would tell him that that was also the reason I talked to him that night, his blonde hair and big boobs. Mike did not like that joke.
But my time with Mike was short lived. He sat me down one night and told me we couldn’t see each other anymore. I had never been dumped before and was confused.
“Why?” I asked.
Mike looked at me and said very seriously, “I just don’t see myself marrying you.”
Sarah Blodgett is a comedian and writer from Boston. Visit her website at www.myspace.com/sarahcomedy