Aural fixation

Maybe I need to explain why I dated Boxer in the first place.

Long before the movie Pitch Perfect I tried out for a college a cappella group.  Long before I was rejected from a college a cappella group, I worshiped college a cappella.

The summer before my freshman year at Burr we took a house on Martha’s Vineyard.  There was a new an all-male a cappella group on the island called the Vineyard Sound.

I’m pretty sure that performance broke my hymen.

Hot, preppy, college guys crooning soulfully have been my not-so-secret turn on since.

Sophomore year I was at a fraternity party where the beer ran out.  A friend introduced Boxer while I was stealing an abandoned half-full red Solo cup.  Thankfully he stopped the crime in progress and walked me home.

Fast forward a couple of hours, and we were dating.  Not coincidentally, my affection was awakened after learning he was a member of the all-male a cappella group.  They wore navy crested blazers and white bucks.

I overlooked the fact that Boxer wasn’t a prep in real life because he played one on stage.

He had lots of solos and once dedicated one to me.  Granted it was “Centerfold” which isn’t really a dedicateable song unless you are Hugh Hefner.

On Valentine’s Day, he serenaded me during art-history class with the rest of the group.

He also was a French horn or trumpet player or something and had an effective … embouchure.

Fast forward a couple of months, and I finally get the courage to try out for an a cappella group.  How cute would we be?  An acca-couple.

The audition was a nightmare.  Probably because I’m a terrible singer.

There was a pink slip in my mailbox thanking me for trying out.  I couldn’t look Boxer in the eye and stayed in bed for a couple of days.  I was devastated.

Boxer wore his preppy white bucks to cheer me up.  Instead, it was a sad reminder he was in an a cappella group and I wasn’t.

So, while our relationship began because of my innate desire to be around all things college a cappella, not everything with us was pitch-poor.  He was, after all, a cunning linguist.

Now that’s just punny.



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