My husband and I have plans for a weekend getaway, and I’m a bit fidgety. You see, it’s a rare occasion when I can lure Studly Doright away from his weekend golf games. I’m excited, but there’s a great deal of pressure involved, too. How can I possibly compete with the opportunity for a birdie on the tenth hole? Okay, I know how, but do I really want to go there?
Should I have compiled a list of talking points? Or maybe perfected the art of eyelashes batted in adoration? I’ve done neither. Instead, I’m going to watch the scenery pass by through the passenger seat window and make astute comments about the sights I see. Maybe my witticisms will elicit a laugh or two.
This trip is proof that Studly loves me, though. He’s taking me to see Steve Martin and Martin Short at Ruth Eckerd Hall in Clearwater, Florida. This, in spite of the fact that he hates crowds and concerts and anything that requires him to dress up and sit for two hours in a crowded auditorium. In spite of the fact that he’d much rather be on a golf course.
On Saturday we’re going to explore the Clearwater/Tampa Bay area. There’ll be many hours of unstructured time. Again, I’ll feel the pressure to make sure he’s enjoying himself. Why do I internalize all these expectations? Am I alone in this dilemma?