I bet you get a lotta guys sending you texts and e-mails about how your beauty reminds them of a sunset or a flower or something. And I bet you get a lotta guys telling you that you’re smarter than Harvard and funnier than skateboarders falling down and cooler than Miles Davis in an Italian suit on the Brooklyn Bridge. I don’t wanna be lumped in with those guys, though. I wanna let you know why you make me feel the feelings I feel when I feel them.
Every guy wants a girl he can hold up a boombox for and blast Peter Gabriel’s "In Your Eyes" like Lloyd Dobler in Say Anything. For me, you are that girl. I’d be on your front lawn at dawn, cranking that thing all the way up, and letting Petey Gabes and Toshiba serenade you sweetly. I might only have a few seconds before I get tackled by your Dad or a cop, but it’d be worth it. It might cost me a couple of hundred bucks ‘cuz they don’t make boomboxes anymore, which causes me to infiltrate the shady underground market of electronics, but it’d be worth it. I might get my guts bashed in at school ‘cuz that song should never be found on a dudes playlist, but it’d be worth it. Besides, if I truly got my guts bashed in I know they couldn’t hurt my heart ‘cuz it beats so strongly for you that it cannot be squashed.
Maybe I’m not the cutest guy out there. In fact, I’m #34 based on a Facebook page that ranks cute guys (last year I was #37—I’m movin’ up!) Even Belle took a chance on Beast, though. She may have been persuaded by talking dishes, but if I had that power I’d have all the spoons in the world tell you how much I dig you. I’d have all the freezers in the world say how much you send shivers down my spine. I’d have all the potato-peelers in the world tell you how appealing you are. I’d have all the blenders in the world tell you how great we’d blend together. I’d have all the…you get the idea.
You are the first person I think of when I wake up in the morning. Then I think about my Mom ‘cuz she is yelling at me to get out of bed. Then I think about my friend Robbie ‘cuz we were supposed to go see Arcade Fire when they were in town, but he backed out and he still owes me money for the ticket. Then I think about sandwiches. Then I think about Pugs. Aren’t they cute??? The way they wag their tongues when they’re happy and have those mushy, little faces! Oh my God! If I could, I would just buy, like, 5—no, 10 Pugs and hang out with them all day. I’d give them names like Boris and Dopey and Mr. Poppadoppalus. How awesome would that be! I could be That Guy with All the Pugs. Who wouldn’t want that? Wait, what was I saying? Oh right, you are the first person I think of when I wake up, and you are the last person I think of before I fall asleep (before I think about Pugs again).
I remember the first time we looked into each other’s eyes. You were trying to move around me to get to the water fountain. You said, “Excuse me,” but all I heard was music. Because I was listening to my iPod. When I turned it off I realized I was looking at the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. It was like 17 unicorns dancing under pink clouds of magic and pixie dust. You hypnotized me. Or maybe I was still on a mega sugar high from all the Pepsi and Skittles I had at lunch. Either way, I was overwhelmed with joy and happiness and wanted nothing more than for us to be the next Romeo & Juliet (but without all the poison and death and stuff. If my Dad found out I poisoned myself for a girl he’d be really angry and probably make fun of me for the rest of my life.)
I hope you are not creeped out by this letter. I wrote it ‘cuz I feel that you deserve to be written to. You deserve to have songs sung about you, pictures taken of you, and jokes told for you. You deserve to have cakes baked for you. You deserve to have robots dance for you. You deserve to have rainbows beam for you, dolphins jump for you, and leprechauns find gold for you. You deserve to have Ryan Gosling look at you—and not, like, for 2 seconds. A real, long Ryan Gosling look, like he did in Drive. You deserve to have spaghetti slurped for you. You deserve to have bees buzz for you, frogs hop for you, and deer…whatever deer do they should do it for you. You deserve to have aliens land on Earth for you. You deserve to have Spider-Man shoot webs for you. You deserve to have candy bars named after you, races won for you, and NASA blast off rockets for you.
You are the Marge of my Springfield and I wanna be your Homer.
From Your Crush,