  It occurred to me that in the history of this blog, I have not once mentioned Michael B. Which is strange, considering my ever-present love and skill at analyzing the fuck out of everything and everyone. Michael and I have an interesting connection. For you see, we're betrothed. Michael and I, aside from both being the offspring of crazy-ass room mother co-dependents, are also the same age.
We went to pre-school together at First Presbyterian First Pres. was the school for overprivileged spoileds, where the teacher-to-toddler ratio was pleasing to the well meaning parents. Practically the only memories I have from that time was (a) throwing up in the vice-princepal's office and (b) a child dressed as Jesus ridding a teacher dressed as a donkey in honor of Palm Sunday. I do not remember Michael, although there are pictures to prove that we co-existed in the same place. Kindergarten I do remember. A major part of my youth was spent dealing with archetypes, characterizations. These include those such as The Nosepicker, The Pants Wetter, The Fat Kid, and The Freakishly Tall Kid. Michael and I shared the honor of the former. Though I stopped growing in seventh grade and now reside at an average five-seven and a half, the mentality of towering over my peers gawkily is still there. I admired my petite classmates who were proclaimed "cute", whereas I was always "smart", "energetic", or (my personal favorite) "mature!". So Michael and I were in the same boat. He was only slightly taller than me, but the shared sentiment was the same.
We both hated being tall. Considering the great gender dichotomy of Elementary school (and, fuck-- face it, most pre-adulthood) we didn't not play together at school. (We did, however, both have desks brought in from the second-grade classroom so that my circulation to our legs was not cut off during Penmanship Time. ) But when my mother started volunteering after school hours, twice a week I was totted off to Jenny G.'s house.
Michael and Jenny were neighbors, and we shared many game of tag during those blissfully innocent times. But of course, innocence never lasts. There were school plays to be put on and parts to be assigned. As the two who looked near middle-aged (at least closer than the other Care Bear t-shirted peers) we were made of be husband and wife. Taunting and teasing ensued. An isolated incident of playing one another's significant other would not be so bad.
I think it was the seven more time this occurred in my young life that clenched the fact that, "Hey, its the lovers! " became commonplace. Yes, Michael and were fond of the spotlight. He can actually sing on key, belting out notes like a male version of Christina Aguliera (minus, of course, the skanitude and the fact that she is female) And I was the girl given the limited solos in which I spoke lines rather than sang them. Now there's talent for ya! But from the tender age of five to the less-tender and more acne-ridden age of twelve, we were the thespian couple. Like Benifer with less glamour and recognition. So what on earth is cooler than being pinned together through childhood for height reasons? Why, you're moms placing bets on engagements of course! Indeed our mothers were set on our eventual marriage.
And still are, for that matter. Though now almost a foot lies between us. Plus, I wouldn't date a football meathead unless he was doing a Cameron Crowe-esque expose. But yes, there is my homage to Micheal B. I hope he's having fun running around with guys in tight pants after a ball made of dead pig. Affectionately... Anna 
