He was charming. He came from a good family. And my, could he sing. I recall so well his falsetto rendition of Jesse’s Girl. He’d take the lead and his brothers handled backup. That was my Al. Never upstaged.
His flair for disorder was endearing. I observed as he’d land in worlds of trouble, week after week, shaking my head in a thin layer of mock disbelief exposed my utter adoration. I never worried about him. I didn’t need to. He had a knack for escaping his self-made messes in less than 30 minutes.
While he’d wear an unassuming sweater and baseball cap on a regular basis, every now and again he’d break out the leather jacket just to remind me of his bad streak. He was no push over. But he was chivalrous. A gentleman. Excuse me - a gentlemunk.
Courtesy of Paramount Home Video
Yes, my first love was Alvin the Chipmunk. With all the innocence and purity he possessed as a youth, only I – and his brothers – truly knew him. Week after week, he’d sing to me. Directly to me.
Then the Chipettes entered the scene and he was seduced for the obvious wiles of that pink-nosed tart, Britany (ain't that the way). It didn’t matter, though. What we’d had would never be stolen. I would cherish our time together for the rest of my life. He would always be my first love. And by that time, I was already becoming enamored by Bart.
I heard that Alvin was back in town. "He's making a comeback," they said. My curiosity, along with my inability to ever truly let go of the past, got the best of me. So, like any inquisitive ex-girlfriend longing for the good ol’ days would do, I Googled.
WTF?!?! This is not the Alvin, Simon, and Theodore I knew as a child! These are my chipmunks on meth in detention at an inner-city public school. These are the chipmunks I would have dated circa age 14-30.
I quickly shut my laptop and vowed to never again long for the past. Goodbye, Alvin. Goodbye Bart. From now on, I’m living in the moment and welcoming the future. And I’ll force myself to be happy as I spend my nights with Peter Griffin.
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