|In the interest of re-visiting old crushes that are currently unavailable, let's talk about:|
In 1996 Sports Illustrated named Tiger Woods 'Sportsman of The Year.' The magazine featured Tiger on the cover and pages and pages of Tiger's tales of rising to the top of golf. I remember the cover image of Tiger was a Photo-shop-esque pastel wispy drawing. It was amazing. I smuggled that issue of Sports Illustrated to my basement bedroom the same way my brother "recycled" the swimsuit issue produced by the same magazine. I had pulled out the bottom drawer of my desk and hide the magazine in the space between the carpet and the bottom of the desk. Super secret and super quick access. I devoured that magazine. The cover started ripping away from the staples. I knew everything about Tiger. His real name, Eldrick. His multi-racial heritage. He was five years older than me. Me at 15 was trying to figure out how that five year gap would work in our relationship. I repeatedly counted the ages on my fingers. He was 20 I was 15, when I was 20 he would be 25, 'is that too old?' I would wonder to myself. I practiced our wedding vows. I planned that at the point where the priest would say, "Do you, Heather, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" I planned to pause unexpectedly, look at Tiger with concerned eyes and then say, "What? You married an actress." And then say yes. Dramatic. Absolutely. Something a 15 year-old would dream up. Obviously.
Yesterday I learned that his Swedish wife is one year older than I am. Damn, I was so close.