Like a School Girl

I'm 32 and I still giggle like a little girl when I'm talking to a guy I like. This makes me feel ridiculous and stupid, like I haven’t a thought in my head but shameless, lustful ones. Now that might be true, but I’m a grown woman for heaven sakes - I need to be better at hiding it.

Recently, Trist and I were recounting my idiocies. While there were plenty to choose from, all I could think about was this one from 5 YEARS AGO. Let me tell you about the HOTTEST guy I have ever met in my entire life: Jonaton Petersson, the Swedish Chef. (Yes. Really. A Swedish Chef.) It’s a long story (or rather, I like to make it long), so settle in.

To give you an idea, let’s just say that when I got home from this encounter and was retelling each glorious detail to my then roommate (as we women are known to do), I actually cried. CRIED. Reliving this moment still brings tears to my eyes even now. I know that you’re thinking that if I objectify a man like this, then I shouldn’t get upset when a guy is superficial towards me. But I still will get upset, so don’t tell me that.

Anyway, I’m Swedish. Well, a chunk of my family is Swedish. I’ve always have had a soft spot in my heart for the culture and the people. They are a gorgeous people in general, very friendly and open and I appreciate that part of my heritage. I took Swedish courses at college and when I moved back out to DC, I started taking classes again.

One of my good friends in that class was an amazing and funny woman named Stacey, who was married to Tomas, a Swede. Stacey, (who aside from having the best Swedish accent in the class, was also a kick-butt Maryland State Trooper), kept telling me about her husband’s friend who was staying with them for like 6 weeks and how I should really meet this guy.

So finally, the end of the year class picnic rolls around and I don’t think anything of it because hey, Swedish class starts at 9:30 on a Saturday morning, they’re lucky I’m showered and dressed with my teeth brushed, let alone looking half way decent. But I regretted every detail of my beauty regimen that morning the instant that I walk into the club where we’re having our get together. For there was Jonaton, talking to Tomas, apparently describing in great, hilarious, detail a story about his breakfast. (As it turns out, he's ADDICTED to McGriddles sandwiches and has to eat them on a daily basis.) Stacey introduces us and as I shake his hand, the world screeches to a slow motion freeze frame that I will never forget.

This picture of him is burned in my mind. BURNED. He’s tan and a little bit scruffy. Far skinner than I usually like my men; lanky without being scrawny. He’s sporting a great faux-hawk, which I fully admit was a turn on for me in the year 04 - it takes guts, confidence and a twinge of apathy and I have to admire those qualities. He’s hip and dresses well. I can tell he doesn’t have to try to be cool. He just is. He has a gorgeous smile and brilliantly white teeth. But ohmigosh, his eyes…he has eyes that dance. Eyes that make you want to see what they see, flashing with humor and light. They betray his ultra-cool exterior as someone who’s warm and welcoming and completely accessible. They’re so blue and rich in color that I forget I’m staring (but of course I am - awkwardly so.)

And then I start laughing. Out loud. A lot. FOR NO REASON. I’m giggling and I can’t stop smiling. It’s then that I realize that I am in a lot of trouble if I am unable to say anything remotely comprehensible for the next three hours.

And, as it turns out, I can’t. I’m too busy giggling. Every time I look at him, or he says something, I’m overcome by the urge to blush and smile uncontrollably. It’s over the course of afternoon, I learn that Jonaton is, indeed, a chef in Sweden. He has a restaurant that is below grounds in what used to be Christian catacombs.

He loves his job and describes it elegantly in beautiful Swedish-inflected English. The restaurant is painted as dark and full of archways leading to small rooms that are rife with an almost tangible feeling of significance and piousness - well, that's what I am hearing him say in my head at least. The word he actually said was 'peaceful', but the way he says peaceful makes me want to kiss him RIGHT THEN. And all I manage is “Heehhee, cool. Heeehee.” I want to shoot myself in the face.

Near the end of the afternoon, after Jonaton and Tomas played their guitars to Swedish folk music and traditional end-of-the-school-year songs, during which he dödade mej sakteliga med hans sång (translation: was killing me softly with his song), I experienced a range of human emotions that I can only describe as otherworldly. And I can use this word because I did experience what I believe was a spiritual moment.

We were about to depart and I was getting rather emotional because I knew I would probably never see this guy again. We were talking about Swedish cop dramas on TV (which believe it or not, are rather good) and who our favorite characters were, etc...rather common place conversation. He then mentions that if I ever make it to Stockholm, I should come visit him at his restaurant. I’m overcome with the giggles again and manage to get out “Heehhee, cool. Heeehee.” At that exact moment, the clouds parted and a pillar of light beamed directly down on Jonaton; his face glowed and his eyes radiated. I knew that this was a moment that I would remember for the rest of my life. Really, the light just happened to have been cast in that direction from the skylight, but it WAS a gorgeous site. And I was converted.

But all of this was years ago. I have not been to Stockholm, nor have I seen him since. I made an idiot out of myself and have never been so embarrassed by my inability to control myself.

Like I said: I’m 32; at what point is this going to stop? It really impedes my ability to have a normal conversation. REALLY impedes it. There are a lot of reasons why I have never been married, but this is a huge hurdle.

However, in a small way, I hope it's something I never overcome. When I’m 87 and have been married for decades (or just a couple of months at this rate) and I look over at my old crotchety poop of a husband as we’re sitting on the front porch swing and he reaches for my hand, I hope I giggle. I hope I say “Heehhee, cool. Heeehee.”