Dear Diary,

Sometimes a new adventure is just waiting for you, full of intrigue and danger and mystery. I found mine most recently on Pinterest...

Stage 1: The Idea

“Oh, look! Ghostbuster proton packs! Those would be such cool props!” I said to my sweetheart, as I carelessly browed Pinterest without the slightest hint of the danger I was in.

“Uh-huh,” he murmured reasonably, noncommittally, as he usually did to the thousand-and-one excitable moments I experienced on any given Saturday. “For what, Halloween?”

“No, even better,” I breathed. “For my reading club, at the library. How about a mash up between Ghostbusters and The Woman in Black?”

He laughed. “You always come up with something awesome for Story Day. I’m jealous that I didn’t have you at my local library.”
“That would make this relationship wrong on so, so many levels,” I replied with a grin, and then I kissed him.

Stage 2: Hunter-Gatherer

“Do you want to go on an adventure with me?” I asked Lover over the phone the next day.

“An adventure? What kind of adventure?” he asked cautiously.

Obviously, he knew me very well to clarify before saying “yes.” But I was 90% sure he would say yes in any case.

“I need to go to Home Depot. I went to Goodwill yesterday and bought a bunch of junk for my Ghostbuster packs, but I need hoses. And a hot glue gun. And maybe some more junk,” I explained with carefully casual composure.

“Hmm, yes, I can probably go with you, for a bit,” he mused, thinking out loud. “I have a thing that I need to find some screws for as well.”

Lover came by and picked me up, a practice I absolutely adore because I can fiddle and talk and be all excited without the least bit of responsibility, like watching stop lights and staying between the lines. (I am not, on my best day, a confident driver.)

I am also not an evening person. At all. Even a tiny, eensy-weensy little bit. I am more of a dead asleep to the world by 9 p.m. person…

It was 7:30 p.m. when we reached Home Depot on Folsom Boulevard, and I finally took a breath after detailing all the things going on at work, staff drama, and at least two ideas for future story enactments.

As we walked in the whooshy double doors, Lover looked at me and asked, quite reasonably, “What was it you needed?’

    I looked at him.

    I blinked, big-eyed. Twice.

A long pause ensued while he waited very patiently. Lover is lovely like that.

“Something about spray paint?” he prompted gently.

Then I remembered!

“Yes! I need spray paint! And junk! And gear-type things! And hoses!” I crowed, victorious.

“OK, let’s start over here,” he said, and he led the way to an aisle neatly stocked with paint cans.

I was immediately enchanted with the glittery teal. I mean, look at it!


“I need the glittery teal paint,” I intoned like a zombie, reaching for it as if it were Fate, as if there were no free will left whatsoever.

Lover took my reaching right hand and patted it, interlocking our fingers together.

“I thought you needed black? For the bits and pieces? Science-y things?” he asked, and I shook my head, freeing myself from the mesmerizing allure of the glittery teal.

“Yes,” and I swiped a nearby can off the shelf. “This will do.”

“Are you sure?” replied Lover in his thoughtful way.

I looked at the can. “It is black. It is spray paint. It will do.

“Yes, but you want to use it on canvas, for the backpack part, as well as plastic and stuff, right? Plus, this is really shiny.” He reached down and picked up another can, also black, also the same brand. “This is used for tires and bumpers. It will probably adhere better, without cracking and all that.”

I looked at Lover, a look that said silently, Paint is paint is paint. And I blinked, as if I had lost all power of speech and now he must interpret two blinks for yes, one blink for no.

    So I blinked again.

This is a handy survival guide when I do not want to admit that I am wrong, nor that I know absolutely nothing about paint.

Lover knows this. He has seen it before.

So he laughed at me and tugged me down the aisle, away from the glittery teal paint that was calling my name, calling me to a glittery teal destiny that had nothing to do with my current project madness, all while holding on to the bumper/tire black spray paint.

“Where to, next?” inquired my intrepid companion.

Silence, while I tried to think back, all the way back, to the beginning of this journey that happened ten minutes ago. But my mind was filled with teal stars–glittery teal stars.

Lover looked at me. I looked up at him and smiled my most charming, adorable, dimple-filled smile.

“Did you say something about hoses?” he wondered aloud, and then I remembered.

“Yes! Hoses! Science-y junk! Cogs! A hot glue gun! And maybe a handle to something or other,” I gushed with renewed enthusiasm. And we were off, in the vague direction indicated by an orange-aproned employee.

I was not much interested in the hoses, which were all boring white and somewhat reptilian looking, but Lover spent much time determining if the not-glittery-teal paint but instead boring-bumper-black paint would stick.

This made the whole process much faster, and within moments we meandered to yet another part of the store. This time we were completing Lover’s mission, to find replacement screws for A Thing, and I happily browsed through bags and bags and bags of tiny screws as if I had any clue as to what he was looking for.

Afterwards, he looked at me and my stomach tightened up. It was time for another round of Jeopardy!

“Wasn’t there something else?” he mused, looking at the (boring) black paint, the hoses, and the small bits of this and that I had quietly managed to swipe into the shopping cart along the way.

“Mmm?” I asked, delicately blocking the shopping cart, hoping he wouldn’t see the (probably) useless things I had added in there when he wasn’t looking.

 “I thought there was another big thing, that you had said you needed…” he murmured, and I watched him try to think back, filtering through the three-thousand four-hundred and thirty-nine things I had said since then.

“Oh yes!” he exclaimed, and I looked up at him, all excited for him to read my mind and remember for me. “You said you need a hot glue gun. It’s this way!”

    Blink, blink!

“Yes! That’s right!” I agreed, out loud even, as I followed his lead.

“This is really funny, watching the whole process as you try to remember why you’re even here at all,” he replied as we passed by a long bank of ceiling fans.

“For the record, you are the only person who thinks this is even remotely endearing,” I admitted with a small, embarrassed giggle.

Lover stopped and kissed me on the forehead.

“I like you no matter what,” he said. And proceeded to help me pick out the hot glue gun with which I was least likely to injure myself.

Stay tuned! This project has only just gotten started…