I was never good at dating. Years ago when I was still dating, I was asked to go to dinner by this guy. I was wearing a pink shirt and a white skirt and I managed to swipe a full gin and tonic onto my lap as I talked, probably too loudly, while waving my hands in the air. The liquid turned both my shirt and my skirt instantly transparent, but he never laughed. That should have been hilarious and once it happened, I was willing to laugh at myself. But since he never cracked a smile, I got nervous and it probably looked like I did the whole thing just to be funny and show him my lacy bra and underwear set. I never saw that man again after that short wet night. It didn't go much better for me after I met a software engineer at work and fell in love, but I did figure out how to know if a man really loves you back.
It wasn't long after we'd begun to date that this man that I already knew I loved asked me on the most important date so far - a weekend canoe trip in the Adirondacks. I knew about the kids in his high-adventure Explorer Post. I knew about his love for Sabbatis, the Boy Scout camp in Upstate New York. If we were going up there to do some canoeing together, I knew it was an important trip. This was my chance to show him I could be cute and good at camping.
I packed my gear carefully. He'd told me that he'd bring a tent and cooking gear. All I had to pack was my own personal stuff. I knew to wear real sneakers. I had Keds. I packed a pair of pink shorts, a pair of blue jeans, a sweatshirt, a poncho, and a white tank top. I had my old flannel sleeping bag I'd used since I was five. I knew that would impress him, and a tarp I'd throw my sleeping bag onto in case he didn't have one. I didn't bother to pack the lacy underthings because I just knew that wouldn't fly on a trip like this with a man like him. I kept it simple. Toothbrush, sensible underwear, brush, sunscreen, a bandanna, and a wide brimmed straw hat. I managed to stuff it all into the denim backpack I'd used in college. Oh, I was going to be cute.
We set off in an aluminum canoe that he'd borrowed from the Scout camp. I had tried to impress the camp director because he'd sounded so important. The man barely looked away from my sweetie as they stood and talked about the boys, the state of the cabins, and the number of kids attending that year. But I was happy that we were really finally alone when we set across that first small lake North of the camp.
It didn't take me long to realize that things weren't going to go my way. On that first lake, in the glaring sunshine, I started to get a headache and my stomach wasn't happy with the submarine sandwiches we'd just eaten. The wind kept grabbing my big hat and tossing it into the lake until it was too soggy to put back on. I sat up straight and paddled, hoping that he didn't misinterpret my silence as disinterest. I just wished for a quiet dark place to get rid of this awful feeling in my stomach. I'd forgotten my sunglasses, so I didn't even have a little respite from the glare. By the time we pulled into camp, my headache was raging. I was unaware that I wore a gray aluminum stain on the butt of my pink shorts from the canoe. And my stomach just wasn't happy.
My sweetie had brought the ingredients for my favorite camping meal, buffalo burgers. It was hamburger, seasonings, and vegetables wrapped in foil and dropped into the fire. He set about making dinner while I laid on my slightly moldy sleeping bag trying to hide my eyes from the light. Just as it was starting to smell done, I was at my worst. I couldn't handle the smell, though on a normal day, I would have loved it.
Fortunately for me, he held my hair as I tried not to make a mess of my sleeping bag. I don't know how many times I barfed into the dirt, but this good guy buried it plus the leftover food I hadn't been able to eat. By morning, I was feeling better, even a little bit hungry. As we were eating breakfast, a squirrel went running past us with a carrot in his mouth and a huge grin on his face. He'd found the better of the two buried caches.
So I gave up trying to impress him. It was a good thing too. About the middle of the day, we pulled up to a take-out at the edge of a lake. It was shaded by a large tree whose roots gave me some handholds as I got out, wet-footing it. I knew no girl should expect to keep her shoes dry getting out of a canoe. But I did expect to keep my shoes. As I stepped onto what looked like solid mossy ground, I sank into muck up to my thighs. The more I struggled, the deeper I got until I was clinging to a solid root, buried to my waist as this sweet guy sat in the canoe and laughed. The little pink shorts had already bit the bullet. So much for the little white tank top.
Even though I had a good grip on the root, I wallowed in that mud, slipping back down in at least twice. I lost one shoe and got mud up to my ear trying to retrieve it. My boyfriend grabbed my hand and helped me out of that bottomless mud hole and even reached down and found my poor little black shoe. It had been mostly white before. By then I looked like a Qtip dipped in chocolate. I rinsed off as well as I could in the lake, but I got mud up to my ankles getting back out. I didn't have to worry about the aluminum stain now. I was mostly dressed in khaki colors.
That wasn't the end of my foibles. I wish I could say it was. A misty rain started to come down on us. There was no use pulling out my green plastic poncho because I was already wet through and the afternoon was warm. We portaged a long muddy trail from one lake, my boyfriend ahead wearing his large backpack plus our canoe balanced on his shoulders. What a man! I walked behind him with my tiny backpack, my sleeping bag in one hand and his in another. I slipped in the mud and ended up hooked onto another root. Those damn roots. I was turtled, laughing at how ridiculous I must have looked as I was trapped in yet another predicament.
"Do you need me to put down the canoe?" he asked. "I could if you want." I knew how hard it was to get that thing back up onto his shoulders.
"No thanks. I've got it," I said as I tried to twist to the other side to get out of my shoulder straps. The sleeping bags rolled away from me. Of course, it was his bag that rolled into the mud. By the time I managed to loosen my straps and turn around in my backpack to see the loop hooked securely around the root stump, I'm sure I was a sight. Again. There was no end to the mud on my little pink and white outfit. Mr. Cool said not a word, but it was mostly because he was laughing too hard.
By then, I was ready for the trip to end. I was sure the tail lights to his Sliverado would be the last I saw of him. But we weren't quite done yet. Near the end of the day, we had one more small lake and a short portage. I was loading my tiny backpack and realized that something was wrong. I only had a sleeping bag in one hand. We talked about it for a bit until we finally decided I must have left it at the take-out. So we walked back across that portage. It was a good thing my boyfriend had brought the canoe. His sleeping bag wasn't there. We paddled back across the lake. No bag. We portaged again.
And there, at the take-out two lakes back was a lonely silver stuff bag lying half in the water. What could I say? I tried "I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to." He was pretty quiet on the way back through two lakes and two portages, but we did make it out of the woods.
Two and a half years later, that man asked me to marry him, but I'd known something important long before then. The day after our ordeal, he called me to see if I wanted to go with him to the next Explorer Post trip. It was then that I knew that he loved me, even if I puked, even if I messed up his stuff, even when I was completely covered in mud. And he loves me still.
Thanks for listening, jb
It wasn't long after we'd begun to date that this man that I already knew I loved asked me on the most important date so far - a weekend canoe trip in the Adirondacks. I knew about the kids in his high-adventure Explorer Post. I knew about his love for Sabbatis, the Boy Scout camp in Upstate New York. If we were going up there to do some canoeing together, I knew it was an important trip. This was my chance to show him I could be cute and good at camping.
I packed my gear carefully. He'd told me that he'd bring a tent and cooking gear. All I had to pack was my own personal stuff. I knew to wear real sneakers. I had Keds. I packed a pair of pink shorts, a pair of blue jeans, a sweatshirt, a poncho, and a white tank top. I had my old flannel sleeping bag I'd used since I was five. I knew that would impress him, and a tarp I'd throw my sleeping bag onto in case he didn't have one. I didn't bother to pack the lacy underthings because I just knew that wouldn't fly on a trip like this with a man like him. I kept it simple. Toothbrush, sensible underwear, brush, sunscreen, a bandanna, and a wide brimmed straw hat. I managed to stuff it all into the denim backpack I'd used in college. Oh, I was going to be cute.
We set off in an aluminum canoe that he'd borrowed from the Scout camp. I had tried to impress the camp director because he'd sounded so important. The man barely looked away from my sweetie as they stood and talked about the boys, the state of the cabins, and the number of kids attending that year. But I was happy that we were really finally alone when we set across that first small lake North of the camp.
It didn't take me long to realize that things weren't going to go my way. On that first lake, in the glaring sunshine, I started to get a headache and my stomach wasn't happy with the submarine sandwiches we'd just eaten. The wind kept grabbing my big hat and tossing it into the lake until it was too soggy to put back on. I sat up straight and paddled, hoping that he didn't misinterpret my silence as disinterest. I just wished for a quiet dark place to get rid of this awful feeling in my stomach. I'd forgotten my sunglasses, so I didn't even have a little respite from the glare. By the time we pulled into camp, my headache was raging. I was unaware that I wore a gray aluminum stain on the butt of my pink shorts from the canoe. And my stomach just wasn't happy.
My sweetie had brought the ingredients for my favorite camping meal, buffalo burgers. It was hamburger, seasonings, and vegetables wrapped in foil and dropped into the fire. He set about making dinner while I laid on my slightly moldy sleeping bag trying to hide my eyes from the light. Just as it was starting to smell done, I was at my worst. I couldn't handle the smell, though on a normal day, I would have loved it.
Fortunately for me, he held my hair as I tried not to make a mess of my sleeping bag. I don't know how many times I barfed into the dirt, but this good guy buried it plus the leftover food I hadn't been able to eat. By morning, I was feeling better, even a little bit hungry. As we were eating breakfast, a squirrel went running past us with a carrot in his mouth and a huge grin on his face. He'd found the better of the two buried caches.
So I gave up trying to impress him. It was a good thing too. About the middle of the day, we pulled up to a take-out at the edge of a lake. It was shaded by a large tree whose roots gave me some handholds as I got out, wet-footing it. I knew no girl should expect to keep her shoes dry getting out of a canoe. But I did expect to keep my shoes. As I stepped onto what looked like solid mossy ground, I sank into muck up to my thighs. The more I struggled, the deeper I got until I was clinging to a solid root, buried to my waist as this sweet guy sat in the canoe and laughed. The little pink shorts had already bit the bullet. So much for the little white tank top.
Even though I had a good grip on the root, I wallowed in that mud, slipping back down in at least twice. I lost one shoe and got mud up to my ear trying to retrieve it. My boyfriend grabbed my hand and helped me out of that bottomless mud hole and even reached down and found my poor little black shoe. It had been mostly white before. By then I looked like a Qtip dipped in chocolate. I rinsed off as well as I could in the lake, but I got mud up to my ankles getting back out. I didn't have to worry about the aluminum stain now. I was mostly dressed in khaki colors.
That wasn't the end of my foibles. I wish I could say it was. A misty rain started to come down on us. There was no use pulling out my green plastic poncho because I was already wet through and the afternoon was warm. We portaged a long muddy trail from one lake, my boyfriend ahead wearing his large backpack plus our canoe balanced on his shoulders. What a man! I walked behind him with my tiny backpack, my sleeping bag in one hand and his in another. I slipped in the mud and ended up hooked onto another root. Those damn roots. I was turtled, laughing at how ridiculous I must have looked as I was trapped in yet another predicament.
"Do you need me to put down the canoe?" he asked. "I could if you want." I knew how hard it was to get that thing back up onto his shoulders.
"No thanks. I've got it," I said as I tried to twist to the other side to get out of my shoulder straps. The sleeping bags rolled away from me. Of course, it was his bag that rolled into the mud. By the time I managed to loosen my straps and turn around in my backpack to see the loop hooked securely around the root stump, I'm sure I was a sight. Again. There was no end to the mud on my little pink and white outfit. Mr. Cool said not a word, but it was mostly because he was laughing too hard.
By then, I was ready for the trip to end. I was sure the tail lights to his Sliverado would be the last I saw of him. But we weren't quite done yet. Near the end of the day, we had one more small lake and a short portage. I was loading my tiny backpack and realized that something was wrong. I only had a sleeping bag in one hand. We talked about it for a bit until we finally decided I must have left it at the take-out. So we walked back across that portage. It was a good thing my boyfriend had brought the canoe. His sleeping bag wasn't there. We paddled back across the lake. No bag. We portaged again.
And there, at the take-out two lakes back was a lonely silver stuff bag lying half in the water. What could I say? I tried "I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to." He was pretty quiet on the way back through two lakes and two portages, but we did make it out of the woods.
Two and a half years later, that man asked me to marry him, but I'd known something important long before then. The day after our ordeal, he called me to see if I wanted to go with him to the next Explorer Post trip. It was then that I knew that he loved me, even if I puked, even if I messed up his stuff, even when I was completely covered in mud. And he loves me still.
Thanks for listening, jb
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