Mission Impossible

Stolen jewels, the Russian mafia, and a kidnapping. Would my husband choose to accept my elaborate date adventure?

by Teresa Jorgenson

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I was bored, bored, bored. I didn't want to spend another date night with my husband, Dennis, watching a movie and eating popcorn.

We needed pizzazz. I've always enjoyed spy thrillers, so I decided to live the adventure rather than just watch one. I'd plan the date to beat all dates. I could already imagine it …

Dennis steps out of the house dressed in a tux, looking like James Bond, and saunters to his silver Aston Martin with black leather seats. As he pulls away, he pushes a gadget and blows up his black Chevy truck—with all his hunting gear inside. He's on his way to a rendezvous with his beautiful wife …

Inspired, I called my friend Dawn to join me in creating a mission impossible date with our husbands.

"I'm in," she agreed. "I'm tired of always doing the same things on our dates."

"Great!" I had a partner in crime.

"We need a plan," Dawn pointed out.

I closed my eyes, conjuring the image of me as imperiled heroine ….

"We will catch you," the evil Russian mafia agent says with a diabolical laugh. "You will not get away." "No," I say bravely. "Dennis will save me …"

"Let's be international jewel thieves," I said aloud. "We're running from the Russian mafia. Our husbands' mission is to recover the stolen jewels and save us."

"Sounds intriguing," said Dawn.

Getting down to business, we analyzed possible routes and locations. We divvied up the tasks and set our next meeting for the following week.

The plot thickens

Seven days later, over mugs of hot tea in Dawn's kitchen, we outlined our plan.

"My aunt will take the kids and let us use her house to leave clues," offered Dawn.

"David and April can be Boris and Natasha, Russian mafia agents," I said, referring to my seven-year-old son and nine-year-old daughter. "Of course, they'll both need intense training."

"What about a final destination?" Dawn asked.

"How about Glen Eyrie Castle?" I suggested. "It's nearby, but it looks like an English mansion, which adds an international flair."

"Perfect," Dawn agreed.

I sipped my tea, smiling to myself ….

I struggle to loosen the ropes around my wrists while the Russian laughs wickedly. Then Dennis breaks down the door, straightens his tuxedo, smoothes his hair, and smiles rakishly at me. "Your time is up," he announces as he stalks toward the Russian …

Showtime

At last the big day arrived. After synchronizing our watches, Dawn and I had arranged for our husbands to go skeet shooting at a nearby military base. Guns. Yes, that would work. Perfect for spies and thrillers and adventure—even if it was just shooting at clay discs. Earlier I'd planted an audio tape (with classified instructions)—the famous Mission: Impossible, self-destructing kind—in the glove box of my husband's truck.

I kissed my husband goodbye and instructed him not to plan anything for the rest of the day.

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Originally published in: Marriage Partnership, 2007, Spring, Page 29

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