You know that guy? [Or substitute "girl" for "guy" if applicable. We do not discriminate here at Limbodacious.] You know which one I'm talking about. That one you don't tell anyone you adore, the one you silently worship after everyone else has gone to sleep. For me, that guy is Shawn Michaels.
Oh, I'm sorry, you don't know Shawn Michaels? That's probably because you didn't grow up with a bunch of hilljacks to whom professional wrestling was more religion than sport. As a young, impressionable pre-teen, I swooned over his long wavy locks and snotty one-liners. Oh sure, I saw some red flags... he travels a lot, is a little full of himself, is more than double my age, and is usually attired in outfits Liberace would shy away from... but I didn't care. I thought he was hot with a capital SEXY.
But as I grew older, I realized that I couldn't like him anymore. Because I was mature. I was sophisticated. I was not your typical country bumpkin who watched wrestling. I couldn't like wrestling like all the other people I knew did. I was so much better than that, so I had to say adieu to my first pre-pubescent love. Totally. Except that one picture I keep in my diary (yes, to this day).
Fate has a way of circling back on a man, and taking him by surprise.
Ten years later, I began dating Boyfriend. Three months into the relationship, he admitted to me that he was an almost fanatical wrestling fan. But how could it be? He wasn't a redneck, he was smart and went to college! It didn't make any sense... I had gone so far out of my hometown to find a boyfriend, and here I found one that watched wrestling just like my childhood friends I had scoffed at, what are the freaking odds? It had to be hard for Boyfriend to admit to his hobby, since it is so widely regarded as trashy and stupid. Even though he had shared this part of his life with me, I couldn't confess my own embarrassing obsession. I knew then that it would be hard to keep my secret. But I must keep it.
I did so good for a while. When Boyfriend's friends were over watching their "male soap opera," as they called it, I disinterestedly washed dishes or milled about in the other room reading. I teased them for their silly obsession with a silly pseudo-sport. But the thing about skeletons is, they don't like to be kept in the closet. So it was inevitable that one day, my secret would come to light.
When Boyfriend loudly objected to whatever had just happened on TV, calling Shawn Michaels a jackass, I cracked. "How could you SAY that about him??" I blurted out, almost unknowingly. Boyfriend couldn't process the content of the statement I made at first, because he was shocked that I was 1) in the room, 2) watching the match, and 3) knew what the hell was going on and who the players were. Then, gradually, as he recovered from the realization that he is, in fact, dating a bona fide piece of white trash, he smiled and said, "Wait, do you have a crush on him?"
And so began the Incessant Teasing Campaign of 2005. Since that moment, Boyfriend can't go five minutes without making fun of my silly infatuation. Thus proving that I was right to hide it after all.
So confess. You know you want to, it has been bearing down on your soul for so long now. Who is that guy you love, but won't tell anyone about? Unburden yourself. I won't tease you. Um, promise.*
* Fingers crossed at the time of statement. Not responsible for any teasing, taunting, heckling, joshing, deriding, or any other form of good-natured harassment resulting from your admission.