The Adventures of Myron J. Noodlestein (Chapter 5)

[Back in Chapter 2 Myron “met” the woman of his dreams at a bar.]

On Sunday Myron decided it was time to take his relationship with T.O. (The One) to the next level. A letter seemed the best way to accomplish this. Myron decided to call on his best friend Doug for help. After all, two lady killers are better than one.

Myron and Doug met at Fat Tuesday Restaurant on 9^th Street to hash out the message. They immediately got stuck on the salutation. The fact that Myron didn’t know T.O.’s name was problematic. To whom it may concern was excessively impersonal. Hey you seemed too informal. Dear Lady was considered but ultimately rejected. Finally the two wizards of romance agreed and two hours later their masterpiece was complete:

To the future Mrs. Myron J. Noodlestein,

Hi. We met Friday night at Dance Factory. As you surely recall, we shared a magical moment. I coughed, you smiled. Don’t we have a wonderful first date story to tell our grandchildren someday?

I’d like a big family, how about you? As my mother says, the world needs more Myron Noodlesteins. By the way, the last syllable of my name rhymes with spleen, not fine. An easy way to remember that is to think of lean, mean, Noodlestein. The guys used to call me that in gym class.

I enjoy good conversation, watching TV, and women of sophistication and pulchritude such as yourself. I have a prize winning lint collection. My favorite color is brown and my favorite number is π.

Speaking of pie, I should mention that I’m allergic to egg whites. I’m also allergic to partially hyrdrogenated cottonseed oil and yak meat. (In case you want to cook me a meal for our third date.)

But enough about me. Let’s talk about us. I was wondering if you would like to go bowling next Friday. I’ll buy. All you have to do is remember what size feet you have. (My guess is size 6.) I’m enclosing my card so you can call or email to tell me where I should pick you up.

In closing, here’s a poem that I wrote just for you. My friend Doug helped me some. You will like Doug. He is taller than me but we wear the same cologne. (By the way he guessed size 8 even though he’s never seen your feet.)

A Match Made in Heaven
Myron Noodlestein is my name,
I don’t know yours and that’s a shame.
Fate brought us together,
We’ll be a team forever.
Noodlestein and Noodlestein,
Stenchville’s king and queen.

See you soon!

Yours truly,
Myron J. Noodlestein

Myron suggested enclosing a noodle, but Doug talked him out of it. “Sending pasta is a romance faux pas,” he said. “Now if your name was Rosenberg …”

You might wonder how this letter will be delivered without a name or address for the intended recipient. But Myron J. Noodlestein and his best friend Doug are way ahead of you.

♦♦♦

— kristofeR anthony