Let’s just put it this way. Mr. E has a lot of fans.
I am fairly sure my mother likes him more than she likes me. Any time she has ever gotten the slightest inclination that there was a chance we wouldn’t be together 4 EVA, she would fuh reek the hell out and inform me in no uncertain terms that she didn’t really think I was going to do any better and I should make sure not to mess this one up. I once worked for a small university press in a shitty basement office and for some reason Mr. E came to visit me and after he left all the boring drones I worked with practically wet their pants over how damn hot he was. I swear to god one of them was yelling “WHOO HEE” and fanning herself with an invoice. At that point I felt I had to inform them that he sometimes Febreezed his pants instead of washing them, but they didn’t seem to care. I used to joke about writing a newsletter called “Not As Fine As You Think” and handing it out to his students, because every semester one or more of them would send him an anonymous email asking him to father her children or telling him he was the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on. One of the other TA’s finally decided to just start the year off by announcing that Mr. E was taken, and to please for the love of god to quit asking her about him. Someone once left a pack of cigarettes and a condom in his mailbox. We spent New Year’s Eve in San Francisco one year and Mr. E wore a shirt that said something to the effect of “Tickle Me” and he got, uh, let’s just say, tickled, A LOT. And one of our friends who is a LESBIAN (IE doesn’t like boys) told me awhile ago that it seems like Mr. E is a very interesting person but that she wouldn’t know because she has a hard time paying attention to him when he talks because he’s just so dreamy. My best friend met Mr. E when he stayed with her one year for a work conference and for an entire year afterwards she would call me up and say “OH MY GOD WE LOVE MR. E SO MUCH”. His own mother adores him, his sisters still talk about when used to baby sit them, the neighbor lady might be in love, his dog never leaves his side. I can’t think of anyone that doesn’t like him.
So, he has a lot of fans, it’s safe to say.
But of all the people in all the world, of all the people we know and all the people who love him, I am pretty sure that one Eli Ekd@hl is Mr. E’s number one fan.
When Mr. E walks through the door, Eli yells “DA!*” as loud as he can, and drops to all fours and scrambles to the front door as fast as his mad little scramble can carry him. If we’re outside and he sees his dad come walking home from work, he’ll stick both hands straight up in the air, and point, and scream, and take off running, all the while emitting a high pitched “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE” and shaking his whole body from side to side, vibrating with happiness. At dinner time, he wants to eat only what his dad is eating, sitting on his dads lap, using his dads fork. They share grapes and sit on the floor and color and Eli doesn’t like to be too far away from his dad at any time, and from the moment his father arrives home at night, he is intent on showing off, as hard as he can, out to impress his father with everything he’s got. Last night he spent an hour toddling into his room, opening his pajama drawer, dragging out a pair of pajamas, carrying them into the living room to show his father, waiting for approval before carrying them back. Over and over again, each time gauging the reaction, as if to say “See, dad, see what I can do? Don’t you think I’m cool? Do you like my tricks? Are you impressed?”
I am also in the Mr. E fan club, despite the whole leaving beer cans/socks/underwear/leftover tostadas lying around, so I get it, it’s nothing new to me, but it’s still delicious to behold. I am starting to think there are no finer moments to be had in this life than those spent with the music cranked up, watching your husband and son dancing and laughing and spinning together, each so impressed with the other, each so madly in love.
*Please note, the child NEVER says Mama, but we’re working on it.