I’m a 27-year-old guy, and I want to tell my neighbor that I’m in love with her, and I don’t know how. We’ve spent the last three years always together, walking dogs, and hanging out. She’s helped me through some tough times.
We have tons in common, and she likes my foot massages—that has to be a good sign, right?
Now she’s started seeing this new guy and I’m afraid it’s too late to tell her how I feel. He’s better-looking than me, and more successful… I’m 70 percent deaf, with health issues, including one run in with cancer, but now I’m in remission, I know I’m no prize catch.
I get that you’re busy, but I’d really like some advice,
I’m inside the DMV right now, writing you on my phone. I’ve been here one hour. I’ve taken a number and I’m standing in line. My number is 68. They are now serving Number 07.
Anyway, you did the right thing coming to me. I have extensive experience in the field of being a big, fat, frightened chicken. Which is exactly what you are. Welcome to the club, Colonel Sanders.
I once spent four weeks building up courage to ask Anna Moody to the movies.
“You wanna go to the movies?” I asked.
She said, “Hey, that sounds fun!”
I almost passed out.
Then she added, “Oh, you mean with YOU? I thought you meant as a group. Sorry, I gotta… Um… Clean the… Um… Freezer…”
Ever since then, I’ve been famously opposed to freezer cleaning.
But enough about me.
You like her, and it’s keeping you up at night. You lie in bed, replaying memories of massaging her sweaty, clammy feet.
It’s time to be courageous.
Now look, I’m no expert, but if you ask me, you are pretty dadgum special. As a matter of fact, on a scale of 1 to 10, you’re a 68. You have much to offer this world.
For one thing, you have the capacity to love. Maybe that doesn’t seem all that special, but you’re wrong.
Some people let their souls dry up. They turn into petrified ghosts who despise life. They become depraved humans with festering insides and disdain for all that is holy. These people work at the DMV.
But back to you. You’re the Eighth Wonder of the World. A survivor of cancer. A fighter. You’re one of the special ones. Neither deafness, nor illness, nor Hell itself can stand in your way.
So about this fella she’s spending time with. So he’s better-looking. So he’s successful. So he has a summer condo in Orange Beach with stainless-steel appliances. Maybe he has two perfect ears, and perfect hair.
Doesn’t matter. Because YOU have something, too. You have what all imperfect people have. Experience. You’ve experienced pain. Heart-twisting love. Loss. Triumph. Winning. Losing. That makes you world famous in my book.
Besides, have you been to Orange Beach lately? Condominium association dues are astronomical.
So admittedly, I’m not the guy to ask about this sort of thing. I’m a high-school dropout who never felt he had much to offer the world.
Still, I know a thing or two about love. And so do you.
Thus, I hope you love yourself enough to be courageous. And, by God, hold your head high. Be proud of your deafness, of your broken body, and your cancer.
You’re a beautiful human being. And I’m in your corner.
This girl might throw her arms around you; or she might not. You owe it to yourself to find out.
Good luck. And remember that I love you.
If you need me, you can find me at the DMV. They are now serving Number 11. I will die in this room.