(Save it, Baby! Count me in!)

So, it goes like this . . .

Can you freaking believe it’s 86 degrees in January?

Hmmm… sorry East Coasters… and well, most anywhere but here.

So we have to get out an crunch some rocks, man!

Check out these pics… Awesome, Jack!

So we are riding up and down…

So get out and ride a bike, dude.

Super great.

Yeah!

xoxo

Belle

(Save it, Baby! Count me in!)

So, it goes like this . . .

This is the season, right?

Right.

To tie one on…

Get a little wacky.

Well… you have to start somehwere…

Then we go to the party…

Of course we argued about the directions to get there.

We ARE married. Gosh.

So we make the necessary rounds…

Drinks and food in hand…

Well, needless to say, we didn’t talk to anyone for about eight minutes…

I had to pound down these delicioso edibles, Jack!

… … …  ;-)

Now it’s time to mingle and get cozy…

Gotta say hello to some buds…

Answer Me!

Where’s the bar again?!

Do they keep moving the bar?

Okay now, drink in hand, time to mingle.

Grab a dessert, I mean my husband!

Well he’s yummy, you know.

He’s a fiesty, fun man. We kept jumping into other people’s pictures together.

He is better at it than me.

Man, his neck is FAST.

The night grew older, and just before the Gift Exchange/Steal/Knock-Down-Drag-Out began…

My besties had to get a fun picture!

But great legs, huh?

The rest out of that was undocumentable… (is that a word?!)

Happy Holidays All!

Enjoy and Drive Safely.

Xoxo

Belle

(Save it, Baby! Count me in!)

So, it goes like this . . .

I need to tell you about my husband…

There I was, dressed to the nines, on my way to the IWOSC Holiday Gala.

Sitting in a brand-new car that I just bought, which will remain nameless.

I’m driving down the road, away from my house to meet up my with “group of the night” wackos, with whom I intend to tip several martinis and cause a general disturbance.

My friends and I made plans to all drive into the city in a car together so that we could talk and laugh… With one poor sap, I mean designated driver to be left out in the uninebriated cold. 

Not me! Yay!

So there I am, driving down the street, when I hear this horrible scraping sound near the bottom of my car.

I look around at the other cars and I’m thinking, “Who’s piece of crap is making that noise?”

I drive forward, but this sound seems to follow me.

I stare at the blue car next to me with a sort of frowny face – you know, that “Get that piece of crap away from me, you’re making me look bad” kind of face.

You know, a normal “girl” face.

Yeah. That face.

:-/

What do you expect?

I’m dressed up.

I’m going to a gala.

Stop freaking stop stalking me with your nasty-crappy broken car!

Jeez!

The blue car pulls away, and then I inch forward… only to hear that scrapy-rumply sound carry along with me.

WTF?

So I pull into the left lane, waiting for the red light, trying to figure out what the heck was going on.

I open my driver side door, and there it is…

A flat tire.

A flatter than flat tire, of the likes I have never seen.

Flatter than my grandma’s German pancakes!

Flatter than my first training bra!

Flatter than Nicki Minaj’s note that she holds in that one song– EEEEEEeeeeeeEEEEEEeeEee…

Now, that’s flat!

Holy F— sh–… well, let’s just say that my mouth wasn’t as pretty as my dress was.

Have to cross three lanes of traffic turning left, going about a foot per second…

That is slooooooooow, maaaaaaaaaan.

You can imagine how popular I was to the oncoming traffic.

I had so many middle fingers pointing at me, it probably comprised a whole hand… Maybe two… Maybe three.

Who’s counting?

Hey! I’ve got middle fingers of my own, you know.

However, I was so beautifully dressed, my hair so beautifully coiffed, and my my make-up so beautifully spread, that I was not about to tarnish all that darn beauty with a bunch of foul F-ing language…

So I am glad to tell you that I appraised the situation with inward “F. U’s.”

Inward.

You would have been proud of me.

I then had to pull into a parking lot at that horrifying-lightning-slow speed. I was as popular with the people now behind me as with the people I had just passed.

“Screw you!” I am thinking… Inwardly.

Ever inward.

This inward stuff sucks!

I finally found a parking space. One of those “small” ones. A freaking “compact” spot.

But hey, it’s all I got. I guess I can have to suffer the fact that someone will whack the sides my brand-new car door.

That almost irritates me as much as the flat tire.

So yes, yes! I AM LATE NOW.

I hate to be late.

And, now… I have to make the call of shame…

Crap, I hate that call of shame…

“Hey, I–”

“We’re on our way.”

“I got a flat tire. (Ugh.) Can you pick me up?” I ask my friends.

So we go through the verbal-telephone-dance of improper directions, until I am finally able to let them know (with some sort of minimal success) where I am deflated.

Now, the worst part.

I have to call my husband.

I hate being rescued.

I am a woman, God dammit!

I should be able to handle these things myself!

I should be able to call AAA, and have this flat tire… this tire that has ruined my day… and interrupted my night… fixed.

Right?

But heck… I’m all dressed up.

I have a party to go to.

I’ve got three martinis at least with my name on them.

And, those are big-assed martinis…

Call of shame #2…

“Hi hon–”

“Have fun tonight!” he says so sweetly.

I cringe.

Crap.

“I’ve got a flat tire.”

“Aaaah. I’m sorry. Just call AAA.”

“I can’t! I’m already late for the party!”

“But you’ve got a flat… you have to fix it.”

Ummmm.

And, this is where I will have to ask a question.

A difficult question, yes.

A painful question, especially for a woman such as I, considering my strength and resolve, the things I have gone through… yes, this next question will be particularly hard.

And then, after that question, there will be a sentence.

A breath, and then an utterance, and then a sentence.

A sentence that will determine what kind of man I married.

This next sentence, will tell me… if he is “hero” material…

Do I really want to have this confirmed… or denied?

Do I really want to know the answer to this question so early in our married life?

We are still on our honeymoon phase, for God’s sake.

Am I ready to find out… if he can be… a hero… for me?

I look at my watch.

I pretend it has a secondhand, so that I can imagine the seconds that are ticking by.

He persists, “You have your AAA card, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but… I… I’m… I mean… I’m late for the gala thing. And I don’t have time to wait for AAA…”

Silence on the other end…

I continue, “can YOU come after work and do the AAA thingy?”

There. I said it. I asked it.

Now I wait.

Hero? Not hero?

“You want leave your car there and pick it up after your party?”

“Well, I will have been drinking… you know…”

Which is true. I would be useless at that point.

I look for my ride. Not there yet. My party co-horts are still driving trying to find me. I have a little time… to wait… for my hero to emerge…

“No Problem.”

What? What am I hearing?

Is that my hero talking?

“After work, I’ll come and change your tire.”

“You will?”

He will?

He will!

Of course, he will!

“You’d do the same for me, right?”

I would?

I mean, “I would. I mean of course I would! Gosh-yeah. Extra keys are on the hook, okay?”

“Of course, baby! Now you go out and have fun at your party.”

Do I hear a Hero, talking or what?!

That’s a Hero, alright!

And, guess what? He’s MY Hero! And, dare I say it… It seems that he loves me!

Ooops! There are the girls, “I gotta go, honey. My friends are here. And, thank you! I love you!”

“I love you, too.”

Eureka!

As I stepped out of my 3/4-inflated car, and sashayed in all my doll-ness to the awaiting car of giggles and glee.

I looked back on my humbled car with confidence, knowing that my Hero was en-route.

Let me tell you – that is a super-fine feeling– to know that your Hero is on his way…

SOOOO…..Let it be known that I had a great time at the gala. Green Martinis and all…

And somewhere half way through the night, after he personally had changed my tire…

With his own two hands, no less… and a jack.

After he removed each lug nut, probably silently cursing my name…

And, dang that I missed that he was probably that scruffy-sexy-dirty… you know that kind of sexy-dirty… where he’s a man, doing manly things, getting manly dirty, and well dang, it manly-sexy hot!

Yeah, I missed all that…

Dang.

But, my phone buzzed as George was serving us decaf coffee and cream, my husband sent me a text, “Hope you’re having a great time. Car is back, the flat tire is changed.”

What a guy? What an amazing, wonderful guy.

And, the cursing part, well that’s okay, because he IS a man.

A freaking hot-sexy-manly man!

Man that uses his manly powers to have his way with me…

… … …

And, well, ladies, I have to tell you that It’s good to test your men from time to time, to find out if they are heroes or not.

Because every once in a while, and I don’t mean everyday, but every once in a while you might just need your very own Hero.

Girls… and it’s okay to be rescued every-so-often… (not TOO often)… and how wonderful that it be from the one man in the world that you love the most.

(Yay!)

BTW, he’s MY hero, Chicas.

Back off, bi-atches!

Now I’ve got to go smudge my lipstick to thank him…

Well… he IS a man…    

Xoxo

Belle

—–