At the sight of his cherry red BMW pulling into the parking lot, I rolled up my windows and switched off the ignition.  I hated waiting in that lot for Jason, but it was an agreed-upon happy medium in the almost-unmanageable distance between us.  I just wished that, for once, I wasn’t the one waiting in the car. 

I playfully hopped into his passenger seat, and just as I had sat down, he threw a disposable 35mm camera into my lap. 

“What’s this for?” I asked with a grin.  Surely, some sinister master plan was afoot. 

“Today, my dear,” Jason said slyly, pulling his sunglasses down slightly, “we are going to go mullet hunting.” 

Though I had never heard of such an adventure, I burst into giggles at the mere concept of what the name implied.  Always the consummate people-watcher, he had obviously ascertained with ease that this would be right up my alley. 

“Is it the proper season?” I asked. “Will we need permits?”  Grinning, he leaned over and kissed me sweetly on the cheek.  It never seemed to matter how long it had been since I’d seen him – I still got goose bumps whenever he kissed me. 

“I’ve got it all taken care of,” he assured.  “Now, where to? I have a feeling Lowell’s good hunting grounds this time of year.” 

………….

“Wait, wait, stop!” I shouted excitedly.  “There’s one!”

“Where?” he asked, attempting to scan the crowd and pull the car over at the same time. 

“Three o’clock,” I observed, pointing the way.  “I think it might even be a femullet!”   

As he parked the car alongside the only open stretch of curb for miles, I hopped out of the car to get a better view.  Confirming the sighting, I rushed back to the car. 

“It is! C’mon, let’s go!” 

“How are we gonna get this one?” he asked quizzically, pondering the cityscape for an excuse to take pictures under the guise of tourism.   

“Easy,” I stated.  I twirled a few steps in front of Jason, spinning my loose, floral skirt.  “So what do you think of my new outfit?” I asked loudly.  After a minute or two, he finally caught on to my plan and played along. 

“You look beautiful in it,” he swooned. “Let me get a picture of you in it!” 

I poised myself by a light post which overlooked the outdoor sandwich shop where the Femullet was lunching, positioning myself perfectly so that she was just behind me in the camera’s frame.  As he snapped away, a self-assured smile crept across his face. 

“Perfect, got it!” he proclaimed, grabbing my hand.  “Let’s go!”  

We ran back to the car as if passers-by were aware of our mission, where we finally collapsed into fits of laughter.  As we drove down the street, we happened upon a public beach where a large, extended Hispanic family function was seemingly taking place.   

“Your turn,” I laughed, spotting a handful of young men sporting our desired hairstyle.  “The hunt is on!” 

We casually strolled down to the water’s edge where I made Jason stand, casually, while I pretended to take a picture of him.  As I instructed him on where to stand, two of the Hispanic men crept casually into the background, smiling playfully.  The older of the two suddenly became quite brave, putting his fingers up in rabbit-ear-formation behind Jason’s head.   

I had managed to snap three or four shots before Jason suspected something was amiss and turned around to investigate.  At the sight of the men, he threw his arms up into the air, cheering excitedly. 

“Hahah! Yes!!!” he shouted, doling out high-fives to the men behind him.  Smiling, we waved goodbye to our mullet-ed friends and rushed back to the car.

“I don’t know how you did that,” Jason muttered, “but you’re a genius. Live mullet interaction.  Unbelievable.” 

“So, where to now?” I asked with a smile. 

“I’m thinking Nashua.”

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