Yeah Yeah Yeah: This Is a Modern Romance

Mr. Sweetypants not only threw me a fabulous birthday party, he commissioned the above painting (non-watermarked image TK) and gave me a karaoke machine (that adjusts for vocal pitch!) and a smattering of singalong cds.

The sweetiest, pantsiest thing he did, though, was surprise me at work with a dozen red roses. To stealthily do this, he e-mailed three of my work buddies to make sure at least one of them would be available to buzz him up to the 14th floor of our secure building. Seeing Steve with flowers was the last thing I was expecting as I sat out a slow moment reading Gawker. And I was dumbstruck.

I emailed him the following:

From: me
Sent: Monday, July 28, 2008 2:22 PM
To: Steve

Subject: Awwwwwwwwww!
You are the sweetest ever! All my colleagues agree. :)

I scheduled our eye appointments for Friday at 10 and 10:15.

xoxoxo

He replied:

From: Steve
Sent: Mon 7/28/2008 2:42 PM
To: Me
Subject: RE: Awwwwwwwwww!
*blushes, puts down slice of microwaveable pizza and replies to message*

Eye appointments. There's nothing says romance like ophthalmology.
____________________________________

How sweet is my Mr. Sweetypants? I dedicated this column in today's Raleigh News and Observer to him. (Sorry about the line breaks; the link went dead and I can't be bothered to retype the whole thing.)

Some born to travel

News & Observer, The (Raleigh, NC) - Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Author: Leigh Ann Frink, Correspondent

When I tell friends and co-workers where my husband's job is dispatching him off to
next, they always ask if I'm going with him. When I tell them I'm not, I usually cite the
weakness of the dollar making everything horribly expensive. As in too expensive for us
to hire a private nurse to keep me sedated and hydrated while applying fresh nicotine
patches every hour.

I'm not afraid of flying by any means. I'll take off to New York to eat, drink and shop in a
heartbeat. But New York is an hour and 15 minutes away. Otherwise, I am a terrible,
bratty traveler who loses oxygen on trips outside the Beltline.

Steve's trip to Australia last time was a nightmare. His itinerary called for a flight from
Raleigh to New York, New York to Hong Kong, Hong Kong to Perth. During Pacific
typhoon season.

The Hong Kong flight was diverted to Taiwan. The plane landed for refueling, but none
of the passengers could get off because none of them had Taiwanese visas. After a
couple of hours, they headed for Hong Kong and circled the airport before the pilots
decided to make a very daring landing.

After being on the same plane for 22 hours, Steve had long since missed his connection
and had to spend the night in Hong Kong. He got to Australia three days ahead of his
luggage. "Nipped off to the Australian version of Wal-Mart for jocks-n-socks," he wrote
me.

The crazy part is that he loves these adventures. I theorize it's because he's English and
the desire to explore and conquer is in his blood. You could probably go to deepest
Borneo or the remotest part of Antarctica and be greeted by a Brit offering you a cup of
tea.

When we were kids, the same age but 4,000 miles apart, as I was practicing my shuffle-
skate moves under our carport to the tunes of Donna Summer, Steve was lying on his
stomach in his bedroom, poring over atlases and maps, planning his imaginary
adventures. Now, (cough) years later, his job takes him all over the world to places most
people will never see.

When I let our family know Steve had made it safely to Perth, my mother replied, "Make
sure he sends Joshua a map. He loves maps!"

I relayed the message to Steve, and he nearly squealed with delight. He's always pulling
out the atlas and trying to teach me things. I can focus only briefly before my mind
wanders back to celebrity gossip. But now, Uncle Steve has a protege! A mind to mold
with the wonders of the world and share his passion for maps and geography!

Steve excitedly e-mailed Joshua about his travels, promising to bring maps back. Being
a good uncle, he wrote my sister and asked her what Joshua's little brother was
interested in so he could bring him presents, too. Jill e-mailed him back: "Banyan's really
into the Pogues."

The Pogues? The melancholy, hard-partying, post-punk, traditional English/Irish folk
band of the '80s? He's 7.

So now I have an image in my head of 9-year-old Joshua lying on his stomach in his
bedroom, poring over atlases and maps, planning his imaginary adventures. In the same
room, the already world-weary Banyan slumps in his chair, crooning:
"It was Christmas Eve babe, in the drunk tank..."

But it gives me hope. Joshua and Uncle Steve can jet off to Papua New Guinea 20
years from now. Banyan and I will sit in a pub, drinking stouts and pondering what to do
should we fall from grace.








(Leigh Ann Frink can be reached at frinkink@@gmail.com)

Edition: Final

Section: Life

Page: D1

Column: Ourlives

Record Number: k4r4t189

Copyright 2008 by The News & Observer Pub. Co.