The Last Picnic.

The other day on a walk we noticed that fall had set in, with its crisp cool breezes and gusty winds making us all want to wear cozy old sweaters and cue up Scarborough Fair on the record player, so we knew it was time for the Last Picnic. The last outdoor picnic, anyhow. It's one of our little traditions—we set up a blanket in a thicket along the creek, just Beef and me, and set out a nice little spread of sandwiches and lemonade and straw-bottle wine. We put another blanket over our legs and cuddle up together while we enjoy our feast and orange leaves float past on the deep green water.

This year he surprised me by showing up with Pig-o-Matic, one of the first games we ever stayed up late playing while mixing each other blue luaus and making little unscheduled trips into the bedroom. It's a plastic dome with a spring-loaded floor and two rubber pigs inside (the game, not my bedroom), and when you press down on the dome it pops back up again and the pigs land in various positions. You get points based on how complicated/rare the positions are. I thought I'd lost it in my last move.

He also had a little thermos full of chilled blue luaus, and one thing led to another, and pretty soon we were under the blanket, and nervous that anyone would notice us, and thrilled just like those first times. At one point when he was just about to come he accidentally stuck his hand straight into a little tub of macaroni salad, but in the end that only had the positive effect of making him last an extra half-minute or so. It's a trick you might want to try at home, if your man's a little too quick on the draw.