When I first met Hubs, I was so smitten with him that I would've walked barefoot through fire to impress him if I thought it would help. He was such a tall, dark, handsome drink of water full of energy and ideas and I just really wanted to be better and more adventurous than the nervous Nelly, calculated risk taker/high maintenance fluff chick that I was trying to hide from him.
One of the first dates we went on, we went hiking. It was my first time but I pretended I was cool and knew what I was doing. When I showed up with a Grande Latte in one hand, a fun little Coach purse in the other, sporting a cute pair of Nine West heeled boots he was like, ummm, do you have any better shoes than that? I did a double take. Was he asking me if I had better shoes as in sexier, hotter, more stylish? Because how dare he question my fashion this early in! I kind of laughed it off and said this was the only pair I brought. Little did I know, I would be scaling mini mountains in my precious Nine Westies. I insisted he go in front of me because I kept tripping on rocks and I looked like an ass most of the time just walking. I did not want him to see how incredibly stupid and uncool I looked trying to hike up a hill in my heels. Look, I was born in the city - the only hiking I'd ever done was down the driveway to the mailbox. Don't judge me. About half way through the hike, I wanted to start complaining. I had to pee from drinking way too much coffee & I was sweating my flawless makeup job away. The bugs were bothering me, the shoes were killing me, I was scared and I was getting tired of pretending that I loved the outdoors. The things we do for love, I thought. Son-of-a-biscuit. I got myself into this and now I had to deal with it. I had to do whatever I could to combat my fear of the outdoors. He was just way too much of a catch to screw it up.
|It's true: to this day, I still go hiking with the boys and Hubs, but I complain. The whole time. I figure eventually they will tell me I don't have to come anymore. For now, I provide comic relief via whining during the hike itself.|
We had a nice picnic at the top of the ledge and I have to admit, regardless of the countless bugs that got caught in my lipgloss, I was having a great time. The smell of the outdoors was invigorating. Well, it was either the outdoors or the swirling manly smell of pheromones and first weeks of dating that was blindly intoxicating. As I ignored the throbbing of my ankles and the pain shooting through my back, I looked at this handsome outdoorsman and hoped for the best.
A few days later, he asked me if I'd like to go sailing on his boat up in Maine. Ohhh, a sailboat...he's got a sailboat...! I was so giddy, in fact, that I managed to forget my boating history. Sidenote: my family is Greek. My mom was born on a little island of the Mediterranean called Cyprus. It is surrounded by water. Many Greeks are sailors and shippers, shipbuilders, Captains of cruise ships, etc. It is in our blood to love the water, to have our sea legs at birth. But keeping constant with my DNA screw ups, I was born with the seasickness gene. Most Greeks have olive skin - my olive skin was of the green kind. Put me on a ship, boat, canoe, catamaran, and watch me turn into the green goblin - of the worst kind. I'd been on a boat a handful of times in my life, none of them ended well. The craziest thing was that my ultimate dream was to be a cruise director. Thank goodness my life took me on another course or I would've been fired on day one.
|You never saw Julie McCoy throwing up on the side of the boat did you? Some cruise director I would've been.|
Back to the story. YES YES YES! Of course I will go sailing with you! In my mind, I am flashing to Message in a Bottle and thinking of Robin Wright as she has a whirlwind romance with Kevin Costner. My romantic side blinds me of my little problem and I find myself agreeing to the whens and wheres of our next date.
|I have GOT to cut back on my Nicholas Sparks books and movies. They only get me in trouble.|
I carefully pick out the cutest, most spectacular Nautical outfit that is both sexy and appropriate for sailing. My hair and makeup is done with great care - every date is an investment in my future with this spectacular catch. We arrive at the marina and walk down the boat-lined docks for what seemed like forever.
I stop to take a photo. I am optimistic and excited at the adventure ahead. I am overconfident and oblivious...blinded by optimism. This is the first, and only photo I will take on this day.
|Blue skies and the smell of money in the air...mmmm invigorating.|
We finally reach our slip and I realize I am going to have to do some acrobatics to get up on deck. My capris are a little too - a-hem form fitting, yes that's it. Ok, tight, there are you happy, they are too goddamn tight because I buy them that way to discourage overeating. Please don't let me split my pants..I think. I make it up on deck by some miracle and start looking around. I follow him around, trying to make small talk, but things start to get serious. This is some serious effing work this sailboat. He has to maneuver out of the slip without hitting any boats. Things get mighty quiet here and I start to wonder if I'm going to need a drink.
|This outfit is nothing like what I wore that day. I just liked the photo and her hat makes me laugh uncontrollably. She's adorable.|
I'm in the way no matter where I sit. I try to move here and there, front to the back, side to the side. Finally we're sailing. The breeze is causing my hair to whip me in the face, poke me in the eye, and smudge my lipgloss. I can feel my blood pressure rising as my high maintenance tendencies start to kick in. He gets comfy at the helm and we start making some conversation. About a half hour goes by as we make our way out on the beautiful blue Atlantic. I watch him as he maneuvers the ship with confidence and strength and I'm getting all warm and fuzzy just seeing him there. Wait. Warm. Fuzzy. Blurry. Nauseous. Oh God. No. It's happening. It's happening quickly. I'm going down, and things are coming up. Shit Shit Shit! Are you ok, Oh my gosh, are you ok??? Are you seasick?? Hello??? I could hear his voice coming in and out as I held my hair and vomited over the side. Look away! I begged....I'm fine - I'm fine, I'll be fine! I tried to convince myself. I tried to will myself to pull it together, but my legs went out from under me. I now have puke in my hair from the effing wind blowing my once-spectacular hair in my stream of puke. My eyes are watering, my mascara is running. This is a worst-case scenario right here. He took me to the bow, laid me down in the warm sun and put a cold washcloth on my head and blankets on my body. I was shivering cold and sick as a dog. He was seeing me at my worst and there was nothing I could do. I was certain the smell of funk was radiating from my pores and magnified in the sun. I am SO not going to be invited on another date. Nice going dumb ass. Nice going.
We made it back to my place in one piece. I swear the minute my feet touched dry land I was perfectly fine. Talk about a bad joke. All that money on a fabulous outfit and all I have to show for it is this picture.
|This is me. I look like a big effing blob of beauty. Love me now - Love me forever. Luckily, he did.|
All I could think of was this was strike 2. He was probably thinking what kind of idiot wears heels to go hiking, and goes sailing with seasickness tendencies. Later I learned he thought it was all very sweet that I would agree to step outside of my comfort zone to take an interest in what he loves. Awww, it did work! Date 3 was a weekend trip to Boston to go shopping. Smart man. He set me up to really succeed that day.
We went on several more sailing trips but stayed very close to harbor while I wore a Dramamine patch, sucked on Ginger candy, sported seasickness bands on my wrists instead of cutesy jewelry like on the our first date. I focused on the horizon just like they tell you to. I looked ahead at the blue skies with hopes and dreams that life really is good once you find the right companion. To this day, Hubs continues to put the wind in my sails, and I put the wind in his. He knows I'll never be much of a sailor, and he's ok with that. The boat is no longer his. It belongs to a bachelor somewhere on the other side of the world now. Hubs is fine with that, too. He is still at the helm - only this time it's of our family.
Sail on Sailor -