My history of unsuccessful romantic weekend getaways all began four years ago when my boyfriend at the time was suckered into taking a work assignment in Akron, Ohio, or as I refer to it, the badlands (home of the hyenas in the Lion King). As our first trip together as a temporary long distance couple, you can imagine the brewed up excitement bursting at the seams between us and the extensive planning we had put into the perfect weekend reuniting us and ending our physical drought. While the male understanding of romance tends to be very basic, the female encompasses a wide range of possibilities for the “perect night”, whether it includes sexy lingerie and some Marvin Gaye (I did not mean for that to rhyme), or maybe a dinner by candle light followed by some fun with new silicone toys. Falling low on that list, I imagine, would be hugging the toilet for dear life dry-heaving for hours. I’m also quite sure that they don’t include bacterial infections and desperately trying not to add random bouts of diarrhea to the list of activites, but if they do, you might be jealous.
Vacation Day 1.
I land in the beautiful and exotic lands of what is known as Akron, Ohio in the middle of the winter. For those of you who have only lived in Arizona or on the California coast, that usually falls between December and February. Directly from the airport, my boyfriend and I head to TGI Fridays for a romantic dinner, (I mentioned the different ideas of romance…). After dinner and a couple of cocktails, we stroll hand-in-hand across the parking lot to our hotel in anticipation of what was to come, no pun intended. To prepare for our magical weekend, Boyfriend #1 bought some of my favorite board games, pricey Italian red wine, and an assortment of my favorite cheeses. As I am admiring his discipline in the art of wooing me and sipping on my amazing Motepulciano D’Abruzzo, he looks over at me and admits he isn’t feeling well. My advice, often given for this symptom, is that he probably needs to have more wine. Naturally he agrees, unfortunately his stomach did not. Within minutes of his announcement, he sprints with the grace of a baby chimpanzee to the bathroom, already vomiting TGI Fridays onto the floor. The gastro volcano erupted every 30 minutes for the next 24 hours. After extensive Google and WebMD research on food poisoning or the flu (the culprit still unknown), he finally gave me a thumbs up on Sunday morning. But in a sick twist of fate, by Sunday afternoon, the mysterious malefactor had caused me to take his place in the bathroom spewing from both ends trying not to do so simultaneously. It was a lovely show of bathroom Olympics with us both competing for the Gold. The end to the perfect weekend was celebrated on United Airlines, clutching the little white doggie bag throughout the entire flight. You know it has been a fabulous vacation when you can’t decide whether the highlight was TGI Fridays or arriving home having kept the few fluids I had left inside of me on a 737 airplane. #smallvictories
Stayed tuned for Romantic Weekend – Boyfriend #2