I’m in bed, debating whether or not I should get up and make The Wedding Date a cup of coffee before he has to leave for work (or simply tell him to microwave some himself) when I hear him yell “Holy Sh*t!”
He’s in the shower down the hall, and the fact that I can hear him from the bedroom tells me that this is something serious. Something for which I should probably get out of bed.
I stumble down the hallway and mumble, “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
I can’t imagine that forgetting one’s shampoo in one’s overnight bag or dropping one’s towel in the toilet would warrant the use of profanities at 5:30 in the morning so I start to worry that he’s sprawled out on the floor, somehow decapitated or missing a limb or befallen by equally tragic but unimaginable fate.
“What happened?” I demand.
“Oh, sorry,” he replies. “I forgot my cufflinks.”
I am simultaneously relieved and incredibly miffed that I got out of bed for this.
(Then again, I do have a thing for men who wear cufflinks.)
“Do you think your dad has a pair I could borrow?” he asks.
I resist the urge to snort. My dad’s a good looking guy but fashion isn’t exactly his forte. He’s about as likely to own cufflinks as he is to own a bowtie (and considering the fact that both he and my brother are rather fond of those George Foreman zip-up ties, I’m pretty sure that the Richter household is a bowtie-free zone).
“I doubt it,” I reply. It occurs to me that maybe someone got him a pair once, like when he graduated from college or something, but the likelihood of me sneaking into my parents room at 5:30 and finding them are slim to none, especially when you consider the fact that the family dogs need very little excuse to go crazy in the wee hours of the morning.
“What about a butterfly pin?” The Wedding Date asks. “Do you think you have any of those?”
“What is a butterfly pin?” I ask.
“You know, those gold things with the round part on top.”
“You mean a brass fastener?”
“I guess, yeah.”
“We’ll have to safety pin it.”
Of course, having had a performance the night before, I’d raided every drawer in the entire house to re-stock my “costume emergency” box and said box is still in the car, beneath my garment bag, all of our promotional literature, approximately a dozen leftover water bottles and various pairs of tap shoes.
But relationships are all about helping each other out, so while The Wedding Date is getting dried off, I’m out in the garage, routing around for a box of safety pins to pin his French cuffs at the ungodly hour of 5:30 in the morning.
The things one does for love…