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So, I waited to pack until the night before and didn’t end up getting to bed until after 2am. Our flight was for 11am in RI. Needless to say, I was running a few minutes late in the morning. The flight was quick and painless; we were both thrilled to be there. Our hotel room was on the 19th floor with a great view of the city and two beds. Everything seemed perfect…
We got the famous cheese steak from Pat’s with onions and cheese whiz. I know, sounds gross but it was one of the best things I’ve ever consumed that wasn’t a dessert. We walked back to the hotel, it was balmy that day and a little misty but not too bad. We stopped at the Ritz for champagne before dinner. He made reservations at a really romantic place, it took my breath away when I checked it out online. They told him we could walk from the hotel….
There was a line for the taxi cabs so, we set out on foot. I didn’t mind, I was dressed for baseball in late October in a long sleeve turtleneck wool sweater with my favorite Dave Matthews t-shirt as a liner, winter coat and sneakers. I was dressed appropriately for the game and looked nice for the restaurant. My hair and makeup made up for the sneakers.
Little did I know his sense of direction is somewhat lacking. Had I known, I would have made an effort to get my bearings on our location. I’m not sure if I mentioned I’m the oldest of 7 and have a need for a little bit of control. For some reason, I thought it may be a good idea to let go of the reigns and relax this particular weekend.
We got halfway to somewhere and the sky opened. The downpour put my shower water pressure to shame. We made a dash for cover then got directions to the restaurant and sprinted so as not to miss our reservation. Of course, there wasn’t a cab in sight. By the time we got there, I felt like a drowned rat. My hair was completely matted and I could feel mascara making it’s way down my chin. The hostess looked horrified. (“It can’t be that bad,” I thought but, nonetheless, I was still beside myself.) We inched our way to the table; I sat for a second then made a bee-line to the ladies room to tidy up.
Can I just tell you? When I ever walked in and saw the woman in the mirror, I almost screamed. My face was sweating profusely. I know it’s my moisturizer; I can’t lay it on too thick when I go to the gym or that happens. As I’ve mentioned I’m not much of a sweater. When I do perspire, it’s because I have WAY overexerted myself. That must have been the sprinting, I don’t do that often. Plus, the bathroom was like a sauna. I had to peel my clothes off and fan myself for a few minutes to stop sweating. Most of my makeup was gone and there was no help in sight for my hair. I had to go back up to the table in my t-shirt holding my sweater. Talk about embarrassing. Fortunately, I had a glass of wine waiting for me.
As I was drinking the wine, he asked if I was tired. I said, “A little, why?” He countered with, “You have bags under your eyes.” Seriously?! Had I not felt delirious, I would have hurled my baguette at him. Fortunately, that was followed with an arsenal of compliments like, “you look great, you have beach hair and my dad had bags under his eyes, I like it…”
I kept drinking. I knew I’d feel better eventually.
The next day was lovely. We stopped at the Four Seasons for another round of Philly Cheese Steaks before taking a romantic stroll downtown towards Love Park and I noticed a flock of some awful birds flying above us… All of a sudden, I was fired upon and hit, square on the top of my head. I stopped short in my tracks to gasp and declare, “No way!” He hadn’t noticed the offense. When I told him, he ran for cover and immediately asked if any got on him.
Of course, my first thought after, “I can’t (litany of swear words) believe that just happened to me!” was, “Would my soul mate do that?” I may need to keep looking.
Am I unreasonable?