HOW TO DRESS FOR ROMANTIC SUCCESS

"Do you ever get embarrassed by anything you wear, Mom?" my son Joel, 26, asked with chagrin as we recently trekked around Parrot Jungle Island in Miami.

He referred to my "urban sombrero," a sun hat with a huge brim that, amazingly, folds up into a little pouch that I carry in my purse.

I shrugged.

"Not even that cardboard box you wore at the airport one Christmas?" Joel jabbed.

How could he remember that incident, for he was only five years old? Perhaps family scuttlebutt had kept the story alive. And perhaps the story deserves to be told one final time. (Or not.)

As a single mom in a small town where eligible bachelors were as scarce as traffic jams, I had joined a correspondence club. These clubs, advertised in magazines, were forerunners of Internet dating but required letter writing, an activity that seems to have gone the way of cave painting.

I corresponded for several months with a man named Ed in Oregon. Like me, Ed was raising two sons. And like me, Ed was ready to ditch all he'd learned from experience and fall in love again.

Sending his sons to visit relatives, Ed flew from Oregon to Fort Wayne, Indiana, on an inclement Christmas night.

"It's 15 below zero with the wind chill factor," my Aunt Lucille announced as she drove me to the airport. But I was too nervous to notice, for I was about to meet my boyfriend for the first time, and I'd be wearing cardboard.

The previous week, I'd cruised the alley behind a furniture store and found a person-sized carton. I brought the box home and spray painted it red after cutting a hole in the top for my head.

Dressing like a Christmas present seemed a perfect thing to do in light of this zany, mail order romance. It would distract me from my jitters, and it would give me an out: if I didn't like Ed's looks at the airport, I could duck my head into the box and shuffle into the shadows.

Thankfully, the airport was nearly deserted that Christmas night. Unfortunately, there were no crowds into which I could blend.

As my aunt (muttering, "I can't believe you're doing this") and I (robot-like in the box, with green ribbon tied around my head) approached the gate where Ed would arrive, an airport worker came running up, excited and inquisitive. When I told him I was meeting my pen pal/beau for the first time, he asked for Ed's name and then radioed the plane.

"Ha!" he chortled. "I've told them to make sure your fellow is the last one off. That way, there'll be a crowd to applaud you!"

Passengers deplaned and entered the airport to form a festive, laughing mob near me. I was ready to cut and run, or at least waddle.

Then he appeared. It was surely Ed, for he wore a mountain man beard, and a plaid, flannel shirt peeked from under his heavy coat. Looking somewhat befuddled, he ambled over to kiss me. The crowd cheered and clapped while my aunt snapped pictures.

"So where did you come up with this Christmas present idea?" Ed chuckled, as we walked with my aunt to the car.

"Uh, I guess it was sort of an icebreaker," I explained, trying not to slip on the glassy stuff beneath my feet.

We were married the following July, and I tried to dress normal.

Learn more about this author, Karen Williams.
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