Personally Yours, Part IV

A few months back (Okay, March. Whatever), I randomly confessed that I once placed a personal ad (see here, here and here for details). In one portion of the confession, I noted that only two people responded to the ad. I only told you about the first (and worst) response.

I feel the need to rectify this situation, as a means to regain dignity tie up this little story and move on into the next year.

Fast forward approximately two years from the first response. I am now living in Eastern NC, acclimating to Semi-Southern Culture and preparing for my wedding...which is to take place in Northern Maine. It is around August sometime, as I am now living in what will be 'our' house - rather than at the B&B with my Newly Adopted Southern Parents.

I receive a package from my (biological) parents, which includes, for those interested: random bridal magazines (which I will not read), silly cartoons (from my dad), five pounds of raisins (I can't explain this one), shredded paper, a coffee mug, two t-shirts... and a rather beaten up envelope.

Upon closer inspection, I realize that the envelope is date-stamped approximately three months earlier, and is postmarked Charleston, WV. The envelope is blind-posted to my college mail box, with a forwarding sticker to my parents' home in Northern Maine. It is stuffed full.

I open the envelope carefully, wondering who on earth sent me a letter this long. Seriously, it was in the arena of eight to ten pages. The handwriting is somewhere between teenage boy and shy guy. It is obvious that the writer took great pains to be legible. I attempt brainstorming, but am unable to come up with even one person living in the Charleston, WV area that I might know. I slowly begin to read.

The first few sentences send me into a fit of laughter: So, yeah, the letter reads. You probably think I'm insane, writing to you after all of this time. I'm not crazy, and I'm not a stalker. Sadly, I don't really look like Christian Slater. At all...

The writer goes on to explain that, in reality, he's kind of nerdy. He's kind of chunky, not particularly athletic. He's a great fan of Beavis and Butthead, and is perfectly okay with a girl who prefers boxer shorts and beer over "prissy stuff".

He goes into great detail over why it has taken over two years to write to me, and confesses that it was probably kind of creepy that he cut out my ad and kept it in his wallet the entire time. It turns out that the guy actually worked for the Indie Magazine where I'd sent the ad, and employee responses to all entries were strictly prohibited. So, upon leaving employment with said company, he decided to take a chance and write to me.

I find myself grinning and laughing the entire time I'm reading the letter, only to sigh and feel awful. I am getting married in a matter of weeks. Reading the letter, for whatever reason, makes me feel like I'm cheating on Chachi. I also worry that the personal ad thing, though two years old, will somehow affect how Chachi sees me.

I feel that I have no choice, and immediately "confess" the entire ordeal to Chachi. He reads the letter reluctantly, and only at my insistence. I sit, nervously awaiting his response.

Chachi sits at the kitchen table, alternately raising eyebrows and chewing on his lip. My heart sinks. He's going to break up with me. I can feel it.

When he finishes reading, Chachi looks up at me. He shakes his head, clears his throat, and sighs. You know what you need to do, don't you? is all he will say. I try not to throw up.

Cancel the wedding? I squeak out.

No! He laughs. You need to write back to him. I insist. Any guy willing to wait two years to respond to a personal ad, who writes stuff as funny and thoughtful as this letter? This guy deserves to know who you are, where you are, and that you are real.

Do you want to read it when I'm done? I ask.

Nope, he says. This is personal.

Then, with a laugh, Chachi leaves to go home.
----------------------------------------------------------------------

I did write back to That Guy. I told him all about me, including the fact that I was getting married in a matter of weeks. When the letter was finished, I sealed it in an envelope and sent it. Then I threw his letter away.

That was almost fourteen years ago now. I don't remember his name, his age, or even the name of the Indie Magazine he worked for in Charleston. I do remember that he was funny, nice and really down to earth. After all this time, I have only one hope: that That Guy found exactly what he was looking for, and that His Girl thinks as highly of him as I do.