The Mike Rowe Thing

Anna, over at La Vida Mommy [see Other Journals for a link] just wrote an entire entry about Mike Rowe, the Dirty Jobs guy. It was as close to porn as you can get without having your entire journal removed.

With all due respect to her obsession, I wish she hadn't let the cat out of the bag. Or the kielbasa out of his jeans. Now everybody's going to check him out. And she and I won't have him to ourselves anymore.

Okay there are a couple of other women who have discovered Mike Rowe, too. All you have to do is google his name to read blog entry after embarrassing blog entry of women confessing to their crushes on the guy. He's also managed to capture the hearts and minds of the male population. He has that kind of ecumenical appeal.

The men like him because they are all into the dirty stuff he's cleaning up. For them it's a job thing. The good feeling of getting dirt under your nails when you work hard.

The women, on the other hand, are all into the hard abs lurking under his soon to be filthy t-shirt. The hard, uh, muscles in his jeans. The hard job of cleaning him up afterward. [You're not the only one, Anna.] 

And how easy it is to listen to his voice and look at that Marlboro Man face.

For me, his voice may be his best asset. It's as important as his self-deprecating sense of humor. And way ahead of anything else.

There was a time when I would have listed the sound of a guy's voice at the bottom of my favorite man things. It's just something I took for granted.

Until one fateful day.

I was flying back from St. Louis one afternoon when I noticed a tall, handsome guy checking out the departure screens at the same gate. Boy is he goodlooking I thought. At least 6'3" and slim and trim in his striped suit. Nice, shiny black hair. Hmmmm, de-lish. Wait a minute, he might be on my flight. Who do I have to kill to sit next to him?

The plane was going to be crowded. It was the end of the day, and everybody wanted to get home for dinner. When they called the flight I got to get on early because I was in first class for some reason. I noted the row I was in and took my seat on the aisle, since that is where I usually sit on a plane.

After settling in, I started reading, oblivious to the other passengers who were boarding. Then someone stopped at my row. I looked up and it was that tall dark and handsome man. Oh, be still my beating heart. He smiled, revealing bright white perfect tetth. Then he said something that took by breath away, "I think you're in my seat." 

I was stunned. Shocked even. No, not by what he said, but by the sound of his high pitched squeaky voice. ACK. It didn't match the rest of him. It belonged on Arnold Stang or Don Knotts. I mumbled something and moved over to the window seat.

He sat down next to me and settled in. I could feel him looking at me, but I couldn't look back. I looked out the window instead. I was so worried he might say something else to me. And I might laugh. So I didn't want to encourage him.

I should have been thrilled. What are the chances of the only goodlooking guy on the plane sitting next to me?  But I had been struck dumb by the sound of his weird, cartoony voice. It erased all of his attractiveness. I didn't say another word to him for the entire ride.

I never realized how much a person's voice can affect you. Since then, I've had men friends tell me that the first thing they noticed and liked about their wives was the sound of their voices.

I remember noticing Mike Rowe's voice before anything else. That's because I wasn't even in the room the first time I heard him speak. But I had to see what that rich, mellodious sound was attached to. 

And I was hooked.