My eight-year-old son, Vance, was giddy at the fact that his cousin’s nanny “has a crush on a guy named Fabio.” He was just dying–doubling over in laugher telling me about it. “Do you mean the ‘I can’t believe it’s not butta’ Fabio?” I asked him. He raised his eyebrow, “Who?” “Does he have long brown hair and an accent?” I asked. He nodded yes. I thought he might get a kick out of my little bit of Fabio history, so I went on to say,”I’ve met him twice,” cringing as the words came out of my mouth.
“You did mom!” Where?”
“Right after I fell down and broke my arm at the Los Angeles Coliseum in 1997.” (After my fall, I was about to vomit from the pain, not knowing it was a break to my radial head at the time.) “Your dad was trying to make me feel better, he was at an event and we couldn’t just rush off to the ER, so he tried to take my mind off the pain. We were walking around the pit area looking for our friend who was a medic, when he spotted Fabio.
“You have got to go get your picture with him.” Davey said.
“No way. Not my style, and right now I’m not really feeling up to it! I may puke all over him,” I argued. It felt like the time my ex-step-mother forced me to get my picture taken with Mickey Mouse when we were at the Epcot Center in Disney World. I could have scratched her eyes out for I was truly mortified and felt at age twelve I was just wayyyy to old for that scene.
“But your mom will think it’s hilarious,” he said, he wasn’t going to let it go. So I sucked up my pride and got a photo taken with him.
About three years later I ran into him at another race, standing in line at the buffet in the Knothole club of Anaheim stadium. (It’s definitely one of the most star-studded events that hails our industry.) “Oh God, I hope he doesn’t remember me, ” I thought, “I’m sure he doesn’t, he meets millions of people.” Right about that time he turned around and started a conversation with me. He was nice, but very right-off-the-cover of a romance novel.
“So that’s when he asked me for my number,” I told Vance laughing.
“Fabio asked you out mom! Give me the phone, I gotta call Debbie.”
“Yes, and it even gets better!” I paused, “I was wearing bib-overalls (because they were cool then) and I was five months pregnant with you. So in a way you met him too!”
It was truly a funny moment. And Fabio, I hope this post doesn’t offend you, you’re great, (just not my type.) My niece’s nanny, however, may give you her digits.