This conversation occurred when my wife Teresa and I were in the car listening to Scott, Jay, and Zack discuss their “lists” on MIX105.1 one morning. By “lists” they meant the list of celebrities for whom their usual vows of fidelity would not, temporarily, apply. It’s a cute topic of discussion for very secure couples who giggle together about once-in-a-million coincidence-type fantasies.
“So who’s on your list,” Teresa asked me playfully.
“Don’t have one,” I replied, watching for a safe place to pull over if this got violent.
“C’mon, no holding out. Which celebrity would you want to fool around with if you had the chance?”
“You first.”
“No one, I’m obviously not that kind of girl.”
“Uh huh. If Johnny Depp suffered a freak sky-diving accident and landed in our back yard, you wouldn’t tie him to the bed and swear to the police you’d never heard of him?”
She stared straight ahead. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Just warn me so I don’t sit on him by mistake.”
“There’ll be a note on the door.”
“Thanks.”
“C’mon, who do you fantasize about, anyway?”
“Honestly? No one. Or at least, no one specific. Too much work.”
“And in your twisted world, that means…?”
I sighed. “My subconscious is a very logical critter, and is not easily fooled. He knows full well that the only way a celebrity would get with me would be to get hostages released, and even then she’d negotiate.”
“And so?”
“And so in high school if I wanted to fantasize about a girl I had to construct elaborate fantasies involving heroic rescues from orphanage fires, or daring rescues from exploding classrooms, or exciting rescues from national disasters before I could make myself believe that a cute girl would fall into my arms. My fantasies took hours. Some of them required notes. ”
“So your fantasy life relies largely on unreasonable gratitude.”
“Exactly. Also, rappelling. I’m honestly still not sure how I lucked into you, but I’m glad I did.”
“Because of the way you daringly rescued me from a rampaging bull.”
“Ah, I remember now. Wacky fun.”
“Seriously, you wouldn’t be tempted for a quick fling with Christina Ricci if her limo broke down in front of the house?”
“I couldn’t do that to her. She’d never get all the shame off.”
“Stop it, anybody would love to be with you.”
“You’re basing that on your own psychosis and it’s sweet, really, but my subconscious is laughing and laughing.”
She turned to me with as close to a serious expression as she gets. “You need to fantasize about someone, it’ll bring up your self-esteem. Go ahead, start. I’ll watch the road.”
“You’re just afraid you’ll have to let Johnny go if I don’t have anybody.”
“Of course I am. Go ahead, who would you stalk?”
“Really, I’m not interested in jumping on anyone, famous or not. Things would get complicated. But,” I said.
“What? Something uncomplicated? Blindfolds?”
“I could see myself becoming friends with someone famous. Getting calls for career advice, or requests to write a song or fix a screenplay because no one else can do it. I can’t make myself believe that I’d end up in a half-naked paparazzi photo but I can easily see myself sitting next to Alyson Hannigan while we eat pizza and shoot fire extinguishers out of a 22nd story window.”
“Fair enough. So who would you hang with? Chill with? Buddy up on?”
“Please stop that.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m not talking sex so it can be male or female, right?”
“Stick with female, I’m still looking to even-up for Johnny. And maybe James Marsters. And Bon Jovi.”
“OK. Joan Cusack.”
“Ooh, she’s fun. Can I hang around you guys?”
“Get your own girl. Ellen DeGeneres. Carol Kane. Summer Glau. Um, Geena Davis.”
“Really?”
“For ‘The Long Kiss Goodnight,’ if nothing else. Marisa Tormei. Kate Hudson. Catherine Zeta-Jones.”
“The phone commercials got to you, huh?”
“And the Sonny’s B-B-Q girl.”
“Excuse me?”
“On the billboard on I-95, I pass it on the way home every day. Big grin, got one arm stuck out pointing to the exit? Cheers me up every time I see her.”
“Little young for you…”
“Ah, but we’re not talking sex. I’d just take her out for some ribs.”
“Not exactly Maxim girls. You like them quirky, don’t you?”
“Of course,” I said, and I kissed her on top of her head. “And I married their queen. So, does that equal a Depp and a Marsters?”
“Of course not, but I’ll let it slide. So this is your list? No playmates, no supermodels?”
“Nah, silicone makes me break out. Am I good? Do we need a written policy?”
“Nah. If you do anything wrong I’ve still got plenty of rope left over.”