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April 18, 2008
Four Passengers Between Us
This weekend I'm going down to Charlottesville with Mr. MMB (christened thus by Ms. ADA for reasons I will decline to specify). It will be forty-eight hours of non-stop entertainment, beginning with a drive with the top down in one of our 2-seater cars (how we both ended up with roadsters I have no idea). I have a new pink dress and am enjoying the idea of a day that might actually require sunblock. Nothing like a rosy nose and cheeks to match one's fashion.
We'll have dinner with his parents before checking into a hotel, where I will exercise restraint and keep my hands to myself since at the crack of dawn on Saturday Mr. MMB will be running in the city marathon. My plan is to sleep in and arrive at the finish line in the nick of time to throw a flower blanket around his shoulders, just like they do for the Kentucky Derby winner.
Assuming that Mr. MMB can still walk after 26.2 miles, our plan is to drive to a friend's farm in Rappohanok for a good old fashioned pig roast. We'll camp at the farm overnight (getting to break out my camping equipment is perhaps the most exciting thing to happen to me in months, although how we are going to cram all of our stuff into one of our tiny cars is still a mystery) and hopefully avoid the thunderstorms on Sunday on our way back into town.
With all of this excitement ahead, one wonders why I am still sitting in front of my computer, sipping iced tea and watching an episode of Magnum PI. (And why in God's name does Magnum wear such ridiculously skimpy shorts?) I still need to find the tent and sleeping bag, need to pack my bag, need to send about a million emails, need to clean the kitchen from last night's stir fry (cooked to perfection by Mr. MMB while I watched and drank wine), need to print out directions for the pig roast, need to put out cat food and water--in essence, I need to get my proverbial shit together.
The reason, dear reader? I suspect it might have to do with Magnum's skimpy shorts.
