Sunday, March 14, 2010;
Some years ago in May, I decided to do some serious backpacking and mountain climbing in the Arizona wilderness for a few days after a conference in Tucson. I shared these plans with my wife, marveling about the beauties of Arizona. When she was not quite as enthusiastic as I expected, it suddenly hit me. She was now semi-retired! She could come to Arizona with me on a spring trip she could never have taken as a full-time high school math teacher.
"Wait," I said, "forget the backpacking. You can join me after the conference, and we'll just do motels and sightseeing. It will be great."
"No," she replied, "you've spent a lot of time planning, and it's been a long time since you've had an adventure like that." She remained adamant. So, later that night I sent her an e-mail. My plea went something like this:
Anne, dear. Please come to Arizona with me. It will be great. We'll visit the historic towns of the Old West. We'll go on birdwatching walks and enjoy the desert fauna. We'll stay at romantic hideaways and sip wine at sunset, serenaded by mariachi bands. We'll make love under the rays of the desert moon. Please say yes, Sweetie.
I hit the Send button to speed the entreaty to the other side of the house. Only later did I discover that -- damned autocompletion! -- it had gone across town to the wrong Ann, a lovely, single woman who taught classes with me at our church.
Ric Blacksten, Arlington
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