Probably not the best time for a surprise

Ryan was a sweetheart and got up at 3:45 a.m. Monday to meet my flight at the Dublin airport. Cleveland hadn't even won the NBA title at that point. It was a whole different world.

My plane got in at 4:55 a.m., and after the early appearance of my luggage on the conveyor and an extremely quick stop in customs for my Ireland stamp, I was probably outside baggage claim by 5:15.

Ryan said he expected to be there closer to 5:25, so I picked a seat and sat down to read until he arrived. And I waited. And waited.

Finally, about 5:50 I checked my phone and found a text from him that said he'd been there for nearly 15 minutes and was waiting for me to walk through the door. What?

My strategic mistake was not telling Ryan that I had finally, finally cut 6 inches off my hair on Friday. I wanted it to be a surprise, and clearly it was. I waved, yelled his name and finally had to chase him down and grab his arm. He looked at me for several seconds before recognition hit, and a slow smile spread over his face. I'm glad he likes it short, because I much prefer it this way, too.

(As an aside, once Ryan did go to the wrong airport to pick me up. I was visiting him in D.C. and he went to Dulles while I was waiting for him at Reagan. That was 16 years ago, before I had a cell phone. Ryan had to have me paged at the airport to assure me he was not breaking up with me in the cruelest of ways.)

After that, he got us back to the UCD dorm (where we are occupying separate single rooms!) and let me nap while he went to class in the morning. We spent the rest of the day visiting Ryan's favorite places in Dublin with a stop at H&M for me. (That makes Ireland the sixth foreign country where I have visited an H&M.)

Ryan, Thomas Kettle's bust and Elizabeth with short hair.