Extravaganza

In college a boy had a crush on me. (Possibly more than one did, but I remember him specifically.) He was sweet. A total druggy with no ambition and not at all my type, but sweet and very handsome and dumb as a box of rocks. (The druggy part had little to do with him not being my type. In fact, that might have been pretty attractive to me at the time.) For whatever reason he thought I was just fandamntastic. I tried to disillusion him, but he was having none of it. He started calling me Extravaganza. I don't know why, but apparently he thought it fit. I would walk in the bar and he would sigh, clap a hand over his heart, slump backwards a bit like he'd become suddenly weak, and moan, "Extravagaaaanzaaaa!" then give me a hug. Sadly, I was never able to return the feelings, and finally after a few gently thwarted attempts at wooing me, he moved on to less (or more? I like to think less, though) Extravagant pastures. I miss him. My days would be a lot brighter if every time I walked in a room someone exclaimed "Extravaganza!!" Sure, I'd feel a bit like a drag queen, but still. It's nice to be adored. And if people decide to start throwing rose petals at my feet, too, who am I to stop them?