A Valentine Invite to Dish: Crazy Things We Do in Love

Have you ever been so twitter-pated that you did something silly? Or embarrassing? Or crazy? Or all of the above? Tell us, because even feminists fall in crazy love…

I’ll go first:

My visa to move to Australia and marry the man of my dreams had arrived. I was sure to start out my future on the right note, so… years before, a sorority sister shared a story about how she took a flight one summer to visit her boyfriend. To surprise him, she wore a super-short mini skirt and a really long black wig that was opposite to her more conservative look and short blonde hair. She walked off the plane, went over and “started totally kissing him.” I thought that was the coolest thing ever! So I wanted to do that, but only for true love, not just a boyfriend. So when my marriage visa was granted, I decided I would do something similar.

I packed my bags with wedding and permanent-move related odds and ends that I thought were too important to send in the mail. Included in my bags were my wedding dress (eek! So exciting!), a hand-carved stone shaped like a frog, favourite music CDs, and clothes. I also wanted a particular cake flavour for the wedding cake that I had not been able to find in Australia, so I packed some Duncan Hines cake mixes as well.

Then I put my plan into place. I ordered a Victoria’s Secret nightgown. It was black, spaghetti-strapped, and laced up at the sides. I convinced myself it was really a dress. The plan was to take the flight, then upon arrival, go to the ladies room, put my hair in a tight bun (because I was sure my hair would look yucky), drown myself in body spray (so I didn’t smell like a 14 hour flight), and do full make-up. I would then change into the Victoria’s Secret “dress” and put on black stiletto heels before collecting my luggage and going through customs. I planned to walk through the international arrivals door and go over and “totally kiss” my then-fiancé, making the most romantic start to a legally permanent relationship EVER.

I was honestly surprised when I was called over for “random” quarantine and customs inspection just after the fully-tarted-up and baggage collection portion of my romantic plan. Word to the wise: This look attracts attention at customs, if only because hauling heavy luggage, even with a luggage trolley, when wearing a nightgown (which has been deludedly declared a dress) is… unusual.

Now, because I didn’t want the cake mixes in to explode in my luggage, I had removed them from the boxes. I kept them in their bags, then placed them in zip-lock bags. I separately retained just a small cut-out from the original box that said the number of eggs, etc. and temperature/bake time part.  But, when the customs official opened my bag, and saw the cake mixes… it suddenly hit me: This looks like kilo bags of cocaine (or what I imagine kilo bags of cocaine look like). All of the sudden, there are more customs officers surrounding me and my luggage, staring at the cake mixes. The senior customs officer asked, “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

I blankly said, “no?” because I honestly didn’t know what else to say! He took the cake mixes to test them ….while the other customs officers began to pull out and examine everything from my packed bags.

I might need to mention that I am a diabetic, so I carry syringes with me pretty much all the time. And because I was moving there, I had a LOT of syringes that I had thriftily packed inside socks, pockets and other places so they weren’t rolling around inside the suitcase. I can’t even start to describe the looks on the customs officers’ faces when they opened my jewellery box to find it filled with syringes (my jewelry was in my carry on… in a clean sock, to protect it, of course). Suffice to say, the number of customs people increased…. and I swear—EVERYONE in that section of the airport, passengers, passport officers, customs officers at other stations– everyone was looking at ME.

They pulled out my wedding dress—and the female customs officers start cooing at how pretty it was (eek! So exciting!), while male customs officers pulled out bras, shoes, bikinis, winter sweaters and… my stone-carved frog which was wrapped inside a pair of clean socks.  Need I mention that in an age of mad cow and bird flu, animal products can be very problematic at international borders? Indeed, attempting to import illegal animals and/or illegal animal products is sometimes as much of an issue as … well, you know…drug smuggling.

“What’s this?” asked the customs officer and she unwrapped a sock that obviously had something inside.

“Oh! That’s just a frog.”

“A frog?!?”

“Oh, it’s not alive!”

(Startled and disgusted expression.)

“What I mean is that it is carved… it’s not a real frog.”

“Oh…” she said as the sock opened to reveal a carved frog. She moved on to scrutinize my other belongings while I produced proper information in relation to the stash of syringes.

Keep in mind that there are automatic exit doors, so every time they opened, a breeze from outside was forced in, making a gust of air which blew up my “dress”…. exposing a lot more than I intended (or had even considered).

The main customs guy—who I suspect thought he was going to be declared a hero and be on the news for such a huge drug bust (based on the size of the cake mix bags)—came back to a sight of all of my things strewed across the customs counter. He throws the cake mix bags down and without eye contact, scowls “get outta here.” He turns to the others and tells them that I am clear to enter the country.

So, three customs officers and I heap my belongings sort of – on top– of my open suitcases that were on top of the luggage trolley. I didn’t want to bother to re-pack, I just wanted to get out. I then manoeuvred the very heavy load —down— an incline to the passenger meeting area outside of customs. Remember, I am wearing stilettos, and the “dress” is blowing up every time the doors open, as often as every 30 seconds….

The passenger arrival area went quiet as a struggled in….It seemed like everyone there was staring at me! I decided to keep my head down and began frantically looking for my fiancé.  Then from the crowd came some small applause, blank stares and giggles all aimed in my direction. It seemed like this barbaric arrival was noticed by everyone….except for my fiancé. He was OBLIVIOUS. He was engrossed in watching a funniest home videos show on the airport communal TV. (HOW LAME!)

Annoyed that he isn’t looking for ME, and frustrated at… everything (!) I started screeching his name as I struggled to keep my “dress” down from the breeze, and keeping my breasts from falling out as I pick up items that are dropping off of the trolley. He finally sees me, and after months of waiting for the visa to come through, he says…. in a panic… “I love you- get dressed!”

Suffice to say, that was not what I planned. But, I still have my carved frog, I had my chosen wedding cake flavour, and my now-husband still loves it when I wear “that” dress nightgown… at home.

Your turn! What is a crazy thing you have done when blinded by love?  DISH!


Spunky lives in Queensland, Australia. She loves travel and aims to visit as many church branches and wards in the world as possible.

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13 Responses

  1. CatherineWO says:

    Wow. That is quite the story. I love it. You are one gutsy woman, and he must be quite the guy.

    • Spunky says:

      Thanks, CatherineWO. Yes, DH is beyond amazing. I was told once as a child– and never been able to verify it– that Joseph Smith once said something to the effect that he would go through the fires of hell to be with Emma. I feel that way about DH.

  2. EM says:

    Hilarious! I wouldn’t even try to top that one, although I did end up dancing on a coffee table.

  3. EM says:

    I don’t have the nerve, suffice it to say that I was the only sober one.

  4. Deborah says:

    Hah! What an image. I was never that bold. Timid in love, actually. In fact, my husband wooed me for four months before I even realized he was wooing me. (Really. He once brought me tea in a mug that said “Love” on it, and I *did not see* the word until I pulled it from the shelf months later — and I promptly dropped it! The fragments now sit on my dresser . . . )

  5. Whoa-man says:

    My embarrassing love story (okay…let’s be honest, one of mine) is on Valentine’s Day when I was 16 yrs old. A new kid at school asked me on a date for the big day and I was really excited. I got all dolled up and he picked me up and was super polite and I knew we were in for trouble. I like polite people, but they make me uncomfortable. I don’t know what to do, I was not raised in an etiquette-friendly home, and even if I remember what to do I constantly second guess myself…

    Date: “Thank you for coming with me.”
    Me: “No. Thanketh you for so asking me, sir.”

    Do I walk through the door? Hold it open for them after I go through? Which fork do I use? How do I eat big pieces of lettuce? I know I was taught how to cut meat properly, but I can’t remember? Does the knife go in the left hand or right? AUGH. I hate formal things.

    We finally arrive at our destination–a friend’s basement that is completely decorated to appear like a fancy restaurant. We have an incredible menu: Steak and shrimp and asparagus. Sparkling cider and dessert. The tables have cloth napkins (mental dialogue: “uh, where do I put my gum? Think. think. gulp. “Well that’ll be another 7 years”) and multiple forks and wine glasses. The boys are really sweet and get our plates all dished up and serve us. We all sit around talking and I am too busy trying to figure out how to eat these things to focus on the conversation. I start with the steak- easy one. I’m sure I cut it wrong, but c’mon they’re teenage boys, they didn’t notice. Next was the long green sticks. I’m too dumb to know to cut them so I kind of spear one and just start nibbling. My date smiles. Looking back, at this point in the date he probably found it endearing rather than obnoxious, but I wince a little when I think about it. Finally, the shrimp.

    Those little buggers had been eyeing me all night. I would have just avoided them but most of the conversation was, “Ohh. Aren’t the shrimp so great.” “Oh, Yes” I would say. They spoke about how great shrimp are and how expensive they are. I didn’t want to appear ungrateful. I thought about hiding them in my napkin. “D*mn you cloth napkins! Grrr.” So I decided to eat them. I had never had a shrimp before in my life. My dad was always trying to get us to eat seafood but this entailed a couple of frozen fish sticks or canned crab once a year that reeked and caused us all to stick our noses into the air and pretend vomit. It never occurred to me that I would have to actually eat seafood one day or that my Dad’s meal mantra “Are you going to do that on a date?” would ever be relevant. You see he said that every time we did something gross at meals like drink out of the carton, burp, eat with our hands, stand up at the dinner table, wash our faces off with a sleeve or the shirt we were wearing, put too much salt, talked with food in our mouths, etc.

    But I should have listened. At least a little.

    So there I was 5 little shrimp and me. I wasn’t even listening to the conversation at this point. Just nodding my head and smiling. I fork the little curly-cue and take a couple tiny bites. Not so bad. In fact, they don’t even taste that bad. Except the crunchy part. That part is kind of hard to eat. I politely finish off all of my shrimp and while I am slowly crunching the tail of the last one, my date’s friend whispers in my ear, “You don’t have to eat the tails.”

    “Oh. Okay.” “Thank you.” And I proceed to try and figure out whether he was saying that I’m not supposed to or that I don’t have to. I decide its the former and so I spit out the rest of the tail shards into my cloth napkin.

    I’m pretty sure my date stopped finding my dating antics charming at this point.

  6. alex w. says:

    I don’t know if I can top that! What a great story 😀

  7. DefyGravity says:

    Spunky, your story is incredible. Wish I was that brave.

    This is my only really awkward v-day story… Not sure how good it is.
    This was a few years ago and I was in between relationships. I was still hanging out with my on-again, off-again ex who couldn’t quite figure out if he could deal with dating me. And I had just started to realize that the theater guy who had been expressing interest for a while was an incredible person and very woth my timr (he’s now my husband.) So I was spending time with both of them.

    As a theatre major, I was required to see every play BYU did. They were doing the Jungle Book, and my ex said he wanted to see it. So I said he should go with me since I had to go anyway. Then my now-husband asked what day I was going so he could go the same night since he had to see it to. I told him Feburary 14th. I realized later that he would be seeing me on a “date” with another guy on Valentine’s Day and that I was screwed. I didn’t think about the date when I bought the tickets, it was just a night I had off.

    So the 3 of us sat together at this play and it was the most awkward night of my life. Here I am trying to talk to both of them and make it clear that I’m not actually on a date, and I’m wondering “How did I end up with 2 “dates” on Valentines day?” It didn’t help that my husband was running on no sleep and had had a horrible day. He barely spoke to me (I found out later hoe exhausted he was) and when I asked him if I’d see him the next night like we planned he said he didn’t know. I was sure I’d ruined any interest he had for a guy who couldn’t make up his mind. I was a wreck the whole night and went home and cried.

    It ended up working out; my husband and I started officially dating the next night after he read my tons of anguished text messages. ( He locked his coat in a locker with his phone and the locker combo so he didn’t see them til the next day. Like I said, he was not having a good day.) But thinking about that night still makes me cringe.

  8. Jessawhy says:

    Mine was lucky enough to be only embarrassing in retrospect.

    When I was dating Mark (my husband of 11 years) during our sophomore year of college, I was looking for a great gift for him for Valentine’s day. I wandered through a department store and went to the home section (I don’t know why) and the clearance section (because I’m a bargain hunter) and found a lovely set of flannel sheets that I thought would be nice and comfortable. (Did I mention they were a good price?)
    They happened to be red.

    Keep in mind that this is BYU, we are both pure and chaste as the driven snow and I have NO thoughts in my mind about sex when I buy Mark these sheets.

    However, when Mark’s roommate’s let me into his room to put on the red sheets along with some Hershey’s kisses, (I had never been in Mark’s bedroom at all, it was against the rules) they were DEFINITELY thinking about sex and what I and/or Mark wanted to do in those sheets.

    I didn’t realize this until YEARS later. I think Mark brought it up, he said it was embarrassing for him. Then I remembered that his roomates always referred to me behind my back as the “crazy girl from astronomy” (another story) and can’t believe Mark married me.


    I think Mark’s parents may have been in town around that time as well and heard about the gift. I’m probably just blocking that out because it’s just too embarrassing for me to remember.

  9. Miri says:

    I’m a little sad that I don’t think I have any stories like this, because I’ve never done anything very exciting in my romantic relationships. The only things I can think of aren’t inherently embarrassing, they just embarrass me because they were me. I love all of your stories; Spunky, and Whoa-man, I definitely laughed out loud reading yours. 🙂

  10. Danielle says:

    What a funny story! It seems like whenever I try to go out of my comfortable realm of sexiness something ridiculous happens.

  11. christer1979 says:

    My freshman year at BYU, I started dating a boy literally a week before Valentine’s Day. Talk about loaded timing. We joked about what to do for the big day but were both trying to figure how to express just the right amount of affection without going overboard, given the brief duration of our relationship at that point. I decided ironic overstatement was my only hope. When the boy had my over to his kitchen in Heritage Halls for a homemade dinner and Benny and Joon, I presented him with a mix CD lovingly decorated and titled something like “The BEST Romantic Valentine’s Mix EVER For a Special Guy.” He put it in. Every single track was Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On.” (Well, technically it alternated between the live version and the studio version.) Boy totally thought it was hilarious, and I presented him with a much more thought out (and normal) mix CD, but not before a neighboring dorm kid wandered in to figure out who was playing the sex anthem, only to find the two of us laughing and grinning like lovesick puppies.

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