I know it comes as no surprise to anyone that has read ONE of my entries that I am a complete and total nerd. I loved Star Wars as a Little Brooke, graduated to Harry Potter and have been indoctrinated into the Twilight Fandom. In fact, it is rather unusual that my blog doesn’t have a countdown clock to New Moon.
Because, hello. Taylor Lautner’s pecs.
(I KNOW he’s underage. Bite me.)
One of my nerdier activities (yes, there is a scale of Nerdiness.)(seriously. Bite me) is going to the local Renaissance faire. I’ve loved it since high school, when I used to go with my Cool Nerd friends. It’s like a little daylong vacation, where you’re temporarily back in Elizabethan England. Only a little less smelly. With running water. Ours is really one of the more detailed ones that I’ve seen (Have you seen the episode of “The Girls Next Door” where they go to a faire and Kendra calls the queen a “sausage wallet”? A- yikes. And B- that faire was LAME.), with detailed streets of shops, a replica of the Globe and an awesome joust arena where they regularly blow stuff up.
On my first date with Army Boy, he mentioned that he’d seen my pics from last year’s excursion to the faire on my Facebook profile. He said that he’d been a few times, and thought it was fun. Jackpot! “We could do that,” we agreed in the way of the first date couple looking for common interests.
Fast forward a couple of months, and the faire is in full swing. Each weekend, we think “Hey, we could go to the faire,” but other equally fun activities come up, or the weather is bad, etc.
This past Sunday, we were sitting around after a wicked busy weekend, and we started discussing potential ideas for the next weekend.
“There’s always the Renn Faire,” one of us (I don’t remember) suggested.
Army Boy looked over at me. “I get emails from them each week- I signed up a while back. They let me know theme weekends and discounts and such.”
My first thought is “Aw, was he planning on going together?”
My second thought was “Queen Elizabeth is hitting on my man.”
I said as much, and we had a laugh at it. I believe I threatened to pull her wig right off, if she was wearing one this particular year.
Today, I’m sitting at work when I get a text message from Army Boy. “Hey, can I forward you an email?” Of course I responded in the affirmative, and sent him my email address.
Five minutes later, an email game through from him. It was the weekly newsletter from the faire. And across the top, in large font was this:
“HEROES OF THE REALM WEEKEND!”
“Queen Elizabeth honors the members of all active Military, Reserve Members, Retirees… and their immediate families with discounted Faire admission!”
That wily WHORE.
Now she’s going to entice us to the faire with promises of discount admission, and flatter him by appealing to his “you are a brave, manly man that served our country” side. I have to admire her cunning and strategy.
(No. There is not the remotest chance that this was planned by a marketing team a year in advance and just coincidentally fell at this time of year. Don’t steal my thunder.)
But here’s the one thing, Bess dearie, that I have over you. The ace in my sleeve, the secret weapon in my arsenal.
You are the VIRGIN queen.
Yeah, you see where I’m going with this. For all of your flashy clothes, fancy accent, perfectly arranged hair and military discounts, I will beat you. Because you will not put out.
I will never let him know, of course. I will smile and laugh at the ironic timing of your “invitation”. I will be the bigger person, and not appear unnerved that someone royal is moving in on my boyfriend. I will respectfully cheer “God Save the Queen” with the rest of the “citizens” the day that we visit. Because, contrary to popular belief, there are three ways to a man’s heart- his stomach, his wallet, and his libido. Guess which you DON’T have.