Not many people know this, simply because it doesn't come up a lot, but I went to a Hebrew day school from nursery school through the middle of fourth grade. One Friday night in first grade there was a big Sabbath celebration where I wound up spending the night with a few other kids at Danny's house. It was because of the proximity to the synagogue; religious refuse to drive on the Sabbath and while my family was not that religious, the school was, as was Danny. At some point on Friday night Danny asked me to marry him. I said yes, of course, thinking that while I hated the idea of eating gefilte fish - his mother had served that as a starter course - I loved the floor-to-ceiling mirrors in his dining room and figured I could get used to them mighty quickly. What can I say? I was a budding narcissist! Plus, Danny was the cutest boy in our class.
So yes, Dear Reader, I married him.
I was all of five years old.
We held hands on the walk to synagogue the next day.
On the walk back from synagogue, he said he wanted a divorce.
I was shocked. Had I not sung on key? Had I davened improperly? How could he leave me like that?
Too bad I didn't know then what I know now, that for religious to divorce they have to get a "get," which involves going before a rabbi and saying "I divorce you" three times.
Danny never got his get. So maybe we're still married?
Flash forward a bit:
Middle school; junior high - I can't say I really had any crushes back then, because I wound up going out with all my crushes. I know: lucky girl.
But then high school came and I developed a big crush. It was such a big crush that one time, when my object had been sick - I think he may have had his wisdom teeth out - a girlfriend and I made a cassette for him that mostly featured me telling jokes and singing Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide." You'd think I was five, not fifteen. And then there was the time the same girlfriend dared me to go to his house, knock on the door and ask him to kiss me. Which I did, and he did, and I was happy the entire time.
Oh, the foolish things I have done in the service of love.
Now I am much older and if not generally wiser, I'm at least wise enough to finally get that a crush really works best as a crush when the object is completely unavailable. For that job then, the recipient of my crushtastic impulses, I nominate...
Drum roll, please!
...Jon Bon Jovi.
I was never a fan in the '80s, but now that he is 45, I think he is hot-hot-hot. (Does he not look like a male Robin Wright Penn? I love Robin Wright Penn.) And talented. (Have you heard "Wanted Dead or Alive"? I Like that song.) Oh, and charitable too! (He holds the record for largest single charitable donation made by a guest while on the Oprah Winfrey Show: $1 million.) Oh, and did I mention he is hot-hot-hot? (I've never been one for pretty boys, but the universe took so much pretty and put it in that face, it's impossible to ignore.)
So, Jon Bon Jovi, if you're reading this, just know that I'm thrilled to have you be the object of my unrequited crushdom.
QUESTION OF THE DAY: WHO HAVE YOU CRUSHED ON, EITHER A PRIVATE FIGURE OR A MORE PUBLIC ONE?
Be well. Don't forget to write.