And Then I Saw Him: Part 1

I got lost heading to Navy Town, South Carolina last week.

I really, truly did.

Ask my best friend, who, while nursing her newborn, talked me through some map of the greater Carolina coastal area for an hour and a half.

I was literally whizzing past what I thought were the Southern grocery stores of yore, while shouting to her over the phone, "I'M PASSING ANOTHER PIGGLY-WIGGLY. I CANNOT SEE A STREET SIGN. BUT THAT ONE SIGN 18 MILES BACK SAYS I'M HEADING TOWARD THE COAST, SO YOU THINK THIS IS RIGHT, RIGHT? STILL, I HAVEN'T HAPPENED UPON ANOTHER SOUL FOR ABOUT NINE MILES. DO YOU THINK I SHOULD JUST KEEP DRIVING? SHOULD I TURN AROUND? DID YOU KNOW THERE'S LITERALLY A BODY OF WATER CALLED 'ASHEPOO CREEK' HERE? WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULD NAME A CREEK AFTER POO?"

I made about 854 U-turns and got on about three interstates going the wrong direction. Leave it to me to head due east and get loss. Also, leave it to me to completely disregard the directions I so studiously printed from Google Maps the night before I left, all because they seemed a little "fishy." (And no, unlike the rest of the world, I don't own a GPS. I'm old-school like that.)

Anyway, by the time I pulled into Navy Town, I was done. I was tired. I hadn't peed in over six hours, and I hadn't ingested anything save a large Diet Coke all day. My blood sugar was crashing faster than the Ashepoo Creek tumbled. Which, for those of you unfamiliar with bodies of water named after poop, was pretty darn fast.

Still, I mustered up enough energy to stumble into my hotel room and stay just long enough to figure out where the nearest shopping center lay.

Then I was back up and at 'em, following my carefully orchestrated plan: Find food and shopping; purchase said food and other items for about two hours; return to hotel room; tuck myself into bed with food; eat; watch TV; read a book, and hit the hay at about 8:30 p.m.

I planned on seeing my husband bright and early the next morning, and I wanted to look well-rested.

And considering I'd have to be up at approximately 3 a.m. to begin the crazy beautification process all women seem to impose on themselves after being separated from their husbands for more than 30 days, I needed to get my pretty sleep.

Then all would be well and good in my world.

I had a plan of action, and I was following it to the letter. I'd had enough figurative off-roading and adventure for the day.

I was sticking with the schedule.

Until my phone rang.

It was my husband.

Inviting me, it turns out, to dinner.

Apparently, the man was allowed to eat dinner with me - on base - that night, if I was interested.

But I'd have to leave immediately. Right then. To see him.

There'd be no time for make-up or jewelry. I couldn't even do a touch-up shave on my legs.

I had to go meet him for dinner sporting a ratty ponytail, or I'd miss my chance.

Don't judge me, but I actually considered telling him no.

After all, I was wearing a tank top I bought seven years ago and a pair of holey, baggy jeans. And we'd already been apart 2.5 months. What was another 12 hours?

Plus, I had my entire regiment so planned out in my head that messing with it was liable to send me straight through an anxiety attack into a coma.

Sigh.

So, of course...

...I went.

I didn't put on make-up; I didn't wear earrings; I didn't shave my legs.

Turns out all that "What to Wear When I See My Man" stress was for not.

Because I just grabbed my purse and leapt into the car, seven-year-old tank top and all.

I raced down to the base, and, keeping with the trend of the day, promptly got lost. (Although, in my defense, this base - like all military bases - was horribly marked. I ask you: How am I supposed to know exactly when to turn left "at the unlabeled uniform store?")

Still, finally, I managed to find my way to the parking lot my husband mentioned, where some crazy skinny guy waved at me.

Next, Crazy Skinny Guy then proceed to usher me into a parking spot with expert hand signals.

Then, Crazy Skinny Guy started walking up to my car.

Crazy Skinny Guy just kept walking and staring and smiling.

Seriously, what is with Skinny Guy? I thought. Is he going to personally escort me to my husband or something?

Until, all of sudden, I recognized Skinny Guy's smile.

Holy mackerel, Skinny Guy was my husband!

So, I did what any woman would when confronted with a man she's married to but barely recognizes.

I stared.

Hard.

I stared while he opened my car door.

I stared while he kissed me.

I stared while he ushered me out.

I stared while he hugged me.

I stared while he introduced me to several of his friends.

I stared and stared and stared.

He was smaller than he was in the pictures I'd seen of him back in high school. He was smaller than I'd ever known him to be.

He was also downright adorable looking in his little uniform. (Er, I mean, big, manly, intimidating uniform, of course.)

And there I was wearing an aged tank-top and frizzy, undone hair.

Oh brother, this was not how I imagined this going.

At. All.

Not that that stopped me from staring. And holding his hand in a death-like grip while I managed to eat approximately two bites of dinner.

I swear, I'd have drank him in if I could have. New, thinner body and all.

It was glorious.

Dinner, unfortunately, was not. I, honestly, don't even know if it had any taste, I was in such a state of shock and awe.

All I remember was that it was over all too soon.

And, as he wasn't allowed to leave with me until the following day, we had to separate once again.

I debated bartering with another sailor for a pair of camo pants, in hopes that they'd let me stay on base with him and blend in, but I hear that's frowned upon in the military.

So, against my better judgment, we said good-bye - an occurrence that is happening all too often in our marriage.

And I jumped back in the car to head back, still wearing my old tank-top and still rocking stubbly legs.

I drove, wide-eyed, back to the hotel and got in bed, squeezing my eyes shut and willing the morning to come quickly so we could be re-united once again.

Photo taken later in the weekend, but you get the gist: He's all cute and thin. I'm all tear-streaked and tired looking.

***

Be back tomorrow with Part 2! I'll tell you all about the rest of our weekend together then!

Happy Tuesday everybody!