You Never
Know
Where
You’ll
Encounter
Love

12. If I didn’t love makeup, Keith wouldn’t be my husband. We met while I was working behind the Ultima II counter at Macy’s. His girlfriend was my co-worker. Keith was one of the good guys. He would come before closing to pick her up so she wouldn’t have to ride the subway to Brooklyn by herself at night.

I didn’t steal him away or anything dramatic, but he did think I was pretty cute, or he wouldn’t have called me out of the blue two years later “to say hi” after they broke up. (Let’s just say I was super cute—see photo on this page—and I rocked the natural look.*)

“Keith who?” I asked.

“Blodgett, Keith Blodgett.”

“Who?”

Eventually I remembered, and we set our first date. I marked it in my day planner. (Those were little books with calendars that you used with a pencil or pen.) But planners were only as reliable as the person remembering to write plans in them. Suffice it to say, I was guilty of double booking. At the door that evening was Keith with a bottle of wine and a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Next to him was a guy I’d met at a dance club a few nights earlier. Dance-club guy was empty-handed.

Keith and I had a great time at a cozy French restaurant. We talked about our childhoods and our taste in music (I was Punk, he was Rock), and then he did something that no one had ever dared do before . . . he insisted on picking up the tab. I was insanely frugal back then (I would use one disposable razor all year); however, on dates either I paid for the meal in full or we dined Dutch. Keith didn’t speak Dutch. I let him pay. Was it because he charmed me in his sexy leather jacket? (See photo.) All I know is that the brainwashing I had received from Mom about avoiding men who wanted to control you with their wallets was beginning to seem like a bunch of hogwash. I think the technique Keith employed was called “chivalry”—and I liked it. He also opened doors and let me eat off of his plate.

A few months in, we were engaged,** and, six months later, we were married. You could call it kismet, my mother called it impulsive, but actually it was more instinctual. Because, besides being a selfless, kind human being, Keith smelled like butter cookies. All the time, and to this day.

It’s a sweet story with a couple of takeaways:

1. I’m lucky, because makeup had my back again; it got Keith and me into the same room, thus finding me a husband who smells like heaven on earth.

2. Chivalry is a form of respect—and respect is the basis of any good relationship.

Keith and me, totally on trend in the eighties

* For the record, “the natural look” in 1980s New York City was taking a stroll through Central Park and looking at a bush.

** I had a panic attack (unfortunately, a common occurrence in those days) while we were on the subway heading downtown, and we ended up in the Diamond District. A ring was purchased.