In which I'm apparently dating a 60 year old man.

According to the Trophy Wife Handbook, I am completely allowed to do (or say) almost anything to pull off a surprise for BGRR. The latest and greatest of these escapades was a pseudo-successful quasi-kidnapping of the fellow on Saturday. Being the absolute nerd that he is, it's practically impossible to pull the wool over his eyes on anything but the first time. Adoring Girlfriend, however, is certainly not below taking advantage of his less than stellar state resulting from lack of sleep and the outdoors. Let the insanity begin....

Now, being himself, it's only natural that DB's going to do anything possible to make a mockery of his girlfriend's well-laid plans. So when I received a call from my beloved at 12:04 pm, I have to say I wasn't quite surprised (but still took the occassion to invent some colorful language in my head. Wouldn't you?)

"What are you up to today?"
"Oh, nothing, just running some errands and getting horribly lost. I can't find a bank in the Nav system."
"Well, where are you?"
(damn your insistance on being as helpful as possible!) Thurmont...?
"What street?"
(double damn you! Think quick!) "DB, do you really think I have any idea whatsoever what these cross streets are? You know I've horrible sense of direction."
"True."

Now, as this conversation is going on, I'm in Bel Air, MD on Route 1 driving up to see Cat and Andrew for a bit before heading up to the Y.

"So you mentioned that you'd be on campus if I wanted to come up. What incentive are you going to give me to make a 2.5 hour drive north if you can't even leave campus? It better be pretty damn good too!"
"Wait, what? I never said that."
"Yes you did, it was one of the first things you said!"
"Well, I didn't."
"Fine. Irregardless, you need to give me one heck of a reason to drive up there today."

At this point, the subject peters out and not much more is said on the issue. About 30 minutes later, he gets called away and I continue driving. By 3:45, visits have been made and I'm contentedly driving down the PA turnpike towards East Bumble. As I get off the highway, a quick call is made with the intention of figuring out where to park. The phone rings, but there's no answer. Eh, I'll try him later, he's probably doing something and doesn't hear it ring. Another hour later, all cleaned up, 15 unanswered phone calls later, I'm pulling up the driveway. Normally I'm not allowed on campus on pain of death, but the kids aren't around; besides, if someone says anything, I've decided I'm just there to pick up some clothing from BGRR, per HIS request, for some sewing projects.

From our earlier conversation, I assumed he'd be at the staff lounge and popped my head in the door to check. There isn't a look on his face, but the change in his voice is enough to make all the driving that day worth it. Apparently, his cell had died. I know this for two reasons: a) he told me, b) his cell phone hates me and kicked the bucket just to spite me. It also likes to taunt people, because it actually rang through while dead. Go figure, a possessed cell phone.

We wander around campus for a bit, visiting both horsefields and making up for lost time in the case of innane arguments and pure silliness before we run out to pick up dinner for ourselves and some of the staff. (Note to self: the new toupé will easily attach to a headband for convenient wear.) We've also had the usual attempts on my life (a robin "innocently" flying past, a headlock, the hug of doom), in addition to two new ones, "death by playground set" and an impressive "death by bleeding ears from strange camp songs which should never be heard by the human ear". Obviously, he's resorting to drastic measures.

The entire time, he's still under the impression that I drove out there that afternoon just to see him for an hour or two. I find this really really amusing, especially as I originally planned to kidnap him at 2 until the next morning when he had to be back at work. Nevermind that I had bed and breakfast reservations set up or dinner planned, or anything sweet and romantic like that. Like I said, he has this intense desire to toss monkey wrenches around. This intense desire seems to come from the fact that in any way possible, DB's trying to regain a lost childhood. He is sixty, after all. The campers said it, so it must be true.

C1: How old are you?
D: Why don't you guess?
C1: Twenty?
D: Older.
C2: Thirty?
D: Not that old.
C3: Ooooh I know! You're sixty!
D: I'm not that old!

Of course not, dear. Whatever you say.

By the time I finally leave, it's 9:30 pm and we've had a very long discussion on our feelings concerning general frustration and once-a-week phone calls. Voices have been raised, dirty looks have been given, the Boyfriend's Manual for Calming Your Seriously Peeved Girlfriend has been referred to (and proven to be correct again), and an unhealthy amount of hiking has been done in record time in flipflops. And more than ever it sounds like we're both willing to do whatever it takes to make this thing work.




Sometimes I stop and just think about this relationship, about how much this man means to me. A tear runs down a lonely cheek and hangs there, eyelashes meeting for a moment as a woman sends up a thankful prayer to whoever thought enough of her to put him in her life.