If you’ve been following along with the Fighter Pilot Dude saga, you know there were periods when we were together, periods when we weren’t together, and periods when apparently neither one of us knew what the hell we were doing.
This particular episode takes place during one of the “we are definitely NOT together” portions of our programming.
It was over the holidays, and we had been apart for several weeks. I was getting ready to leave the area for Christmas when I noticed something in the back of my car.
His hat.
Of course.
Because nothing says clean break quite like finding an article of clothing belonging to the person you’re trying very hard NOT to think about.
Now, I knew Fighter Pilot Dude would be back in town over the holidays to see his children. And because I am apparently both practical and unwilling to hold someone’s hat hostage, I put it on the table on my front porch.
There.
Problem solved.
Hat returned.
Emotional loose end neatly tied up.
Look at me making healthy adult decisions.
There was only one tiny detail:
I didn’t tell him it was there.
My thinking was pretty simple. If he happened to come by, he’d see it. If he didn’t?
Well…not my hat, not my problem.
I left town for the holidays and went about my life.
Eventually, I came home.
Pulled into the driveway.
Walked toward the front door…
AND THERE SAT THE DAMN HAT.
Still on the table.
Exactly where I’d left it.
Mocking me.
At this point, the hat had become less of an accessory and more of a supporting character in our relationship.
Oh, you’re back? Cute. I’m still here.
Apparently, Fighter Pilot Dude had not stopped by for it.
And eventually—as you’ve probably already guessed from this ongoing saga—we started talking again.
Then seeing each other again.
Then doing that thing people do when all available evidence suggests they should probably keep walking in opposite directions:
We started the relationship back up.
And at some point, Fighter Pilot Dude saw the hat.
That’s when he told me something I still remember.
He hadn’t accidentally left it in my car.
The hat was “insurance.”
Insurance?
Excuse me, sir?
Apparently, leaving his hat behind gave him a reason to contact me again.
A future opening.
A guaranteed excuse to talk.
“Hey…I think I left my hat in your car.”
And suddenly this stupid hat—which I had dutifully placed on my porch like some sort of emotionally confused lost-and-found attendant—had an entire strategic purpose.
At the time?
I’m pretty sure some part of me thought it was sweet.
He wanted to make sure there was a reason for us to talk again.
Awwww.
Look at that.
Romance.
Or hostage negotiations involving headwear.
Looking back now, though, I find the whole thing fascinating.
Because sometimes the little things that feel romantic when you’re inside a relationship look completely different when you view them from the other side.
He didn’t know whether we’d talk again.
So he made sure there was a reason we could.
He left himself a door.
And I?
Put the door on the front porch and left town.
Unfortunately, I neglected to inform him that I’d canceled his policy.
And there it sat.
Waiting.
Just like the relationship apparently was.
So yes, Fighter Pilot Dude and I eventually got back together.
And yes, the hat came back into his possession.
But if I’ve learned anything from this entire experience, it’s this:
When a man tells you something is “insurance,” you might want to ask what exactly he’s insuring himself against.
Because apparently mine came with a fighter pilot, several red flags, and absolutely no roadside assistance.
Your Fairy Groundmother really should’ve read the fine print.
Until next time…xoxo
Tracy
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