With a BioSperminator named Padraig Ryan, hailing from Tipperary Ireland, one could safely assume I am as Irish and ginger-haired as can be. Until last night that is. But suddenly, after last evening’s EPIC FAILURE, I’m left to wonder if maybe the hospital mixed up its babies? I suspect my father might really be called Thor Gundersonn from Norway, if my extremely blond behavior yesterday is any indication.
As any of you reading between the lines might have guessed by now, my long-running comedy show of Crypt Keeper dating is currently on hold, due to the appearance in my world of one Mr. Adorable, who just so happens to be celebrating his 63rd birthday.
Birthdays and Christmas can be a slippery tightrope to traverse in a budding dating situation. What is too little? Too much? Too soon? Like Goldilocks, I wanted to get this just right. Times of sunset and tides were checked, 5-star reservations were made, and a venue was primed for late-night dancing. Dresses and heels were donned and hearts were pumping. First stop…a beautiful beach with an exquisitely timed sunset accompanied by iced champagne and chilled flutes. The lovely lap of gentle waves upon the shore didn’t quite complete my romantic vision of the PURRFECT evening, so I decided to throw a Cesaria Evora CD into my car’s player. Nothing like a little Portuguese song to weave its magic. After an hour or so, and nary a drop of champagne remaining, it was time to hop in my tiny car and head for dinner. We were both starved and hadn’t eaten in anticipation of this incredible dining experience.
Giggling like children and full of our lovely birthday adventure, I turned the key in the ignition and got….nada. Immediately, I remembered a hair appointment I’d had when my kid was twelve. He opted to wait in my car during the 2-hour ordeal while listening to heavy metal music, rather than risk the humiliation of being caught dead in a salon. I tore him a new hiney hole that day because I had to buy a new battery and wait in the North Carolina heat and humidity for AAA to arrive. Mama was not a happy camper that day and I remember asking him how he could be so goofy not to realize you can’t listen to music indefinitely without your vehicle running. Tonight’s dead battery was a long-delayed return of karma, but boy, did it bite me on the butt.
No problem, we’d just pull out the jumper cables and ask one of our fellow sunset worshipers to give us a boost. Oopsie, I forgot….I don’t have jumper cables. By now, it’s growing dark and the beach is becoming increasingly deserted. Mr. Adorable walked over to the one remaining car, owned by an auto mechanic, who sheepishly admitted that, much like the cobbler’s children, he also possessed no jumper cables. Still highly amused by this slight delay to our plans, I pulled out my phone to call a tow company, only to realize their phone number was at home in my wallet. The tiny purses I carry on date nights were meant to hold only a single mosquito, so I only bring my driver’s license, insurance and Amex cards. At this moment I also realized my phone battery was almost dead. I quickly called a friend who is staying with me, who called the tow and told us that someone would be there within one hour. Phoned the restaurant and moved our ressies from 7 to 8.
Two hours later, sitting in the blackest of dark nights, with nary a tow truck in site, I came to the cosmic understanding that champagne is only for rent; you can only hang onto it for just so long before it demands to be released into the wild. But God it was DARK and the thought of being devoured by a Burmese python whilst squatting on the ground to pee in my beautiful lace cocktail dress was not part of this birthday vision. Desperate to pee and squinting through the inky ebony night, I spied what looked to be a structure, a maintenance shed perhaps, just a short walk away. Any port in the storm was better than the jungle at this point, so off I went. The heavens parted when I drew open the door, as it was an honest to God restroom, complete with running water! Two minutes later I emerged with many mutterings of “Thank You Jesus and your lovely mother Mary too” and headed back to the car. A tow driver had called us an hour earlier to determine our precise location on this deserted beach and we were heartened to hear he would be arriving momentarily. As I slid back into the driver’s seat and reached for the keys I remarked about how lucky my timing was with the bathroom, as the doors locked automatically at 9PM, and it was now one minute til. LUCKY ME! I reached for the car keys to reinsert them into the ignition, only to realize I’d thrown them on the diaper changing table in that restroom. Oh hell no! Secretariat never ran as fast as I did, only to twist that door handle to find it…locked. Right about then, I was pondering this. If blondes had their own theme song, what would it be?
Mercy dictates that I spare you the rest of the gory delays and the LONG hours we sat waiting for rescue from this grueling evening, but the good news is that Mr. Adorable remained calm and affable throughout, which is a pretty good test of character, when faced with plummeting blood sugar levels and loss of that intricate Napa Valley wine you were counting on. Jumper cables have been purchased and stowed to avert future disasters, bar food was eaten at an extremely late hour, the birthday dinner was rescheduled, and yours truly escaped being a python’s dinner entrée.
All in all, not a bad date, despite my incredible blondness. I did warn y’all that this boy is sooo appealing I am semi-comatose and non-functioning throughout most of my waking hours. This night was incontrovertible proof.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY JPS…if you’re still speaking to me!!
Feature image courtesy of http://www.sodahead.com