Mr. Slow Knows What This Girl NeedsPosted: February 11, 2011
Mr. Slow surprised me a few days ago with an announcement that just made my day. No, that is not entirely true. So far it has made my week. I have been floating around about an inch off the ground ever since. Happily elated and in a shamefully good mood.
I’m not a romantic person. I find romance awkward. It seems so staged. Performed. Fake. The initiation sequence of the scoring program. Just add alcohol. I find these moments of the heart in everyday life, no candlelight dinner and moonlit walk on the beach required. One such happenstance is when hubby snuggled up to me in the middle of the night and informed me, sandwiched in between two unrelated sentences of our late night half-whispered conversation, that he was going to watch his baby race.
“I have Friday off,” he pauses, then adds: “and Sunday,”
He then told me that I should do a track day on Sunday. After spending a few days tossing the idea around, I quieted the responsible adult voice in my head that insisted on not spending any more money, but rather start paying off a loan or two early; and with that I went online and reserved myself a slot in the intermediate group.
We are making a weekend of it. I asked Joe if he isn’t going to get bored hanging around a race track for two days. He simply replied: “I have my photography.”
I have been trying to get to a track for over four months now. I considered throwing myself off an overpass if I didn’t get any real throttle therapy pretty soon. Every time it looked as though I could make it, something happened that prevented me from going. I am finally getting close to getting my much needed fix to feed the addiction and cure the winter blues and ease the withdrawal symptoms.
I need to bring an extra set of tires. Definitely.
I have a surprise for him, too. But I won’t tell him until we’re at the gate paying our fee to get in. If I can manage and keep my excited little blabber mouth shut for another week.