It was a while back when my husband James decided to surprise me with a Valentine's Day

getaway to a secluded treehouse resort in the Upper Ozark Mountains.

On paper, it sounded extremely romantic, just the two of us, no distractions.

I had a feeling he was planning something more intimate, considering it was Valentine's Day,

so I wore something revealing and teased him the whole drive up there.

Unfortunately, the reality fell far short of our expectations.

The tree house looked nothing like the pictures online.

Instead of the sprawling, multi-tiered

bungalow that span the tops of cedars, we basically got a rickety house on stilts. James was furious,

and I was upset too, but we had already paid the deposit, and there was no easy way to cancel.

It felt like a lot of money down the drain.

As we entered the small room, I noticed that it was beginning to storm outside. Should we

worry about this place falling down or something? I asked, trying not to be pessimistic,

but it was hard not to imagine the whole building collapsing with a gentle

breeze. Every time we walked, the entire treehouse shook. James suggested that we should

probably stay close to the door just in case. Despite the disappointing start, I still wanted

to make the best of our time together. Let's get into the hot tub, I suggested.

James didn't object, and he started the water, although it seemed to take forever to get hot,

and it only stayed hot for a few minutes.

Disappointment continued to mount, and James suggested we get a bottle of wine instead.

He went out to the car in the pouring rain, and returned drenched with a bottle of chardonnay

and a corkscrew bottle opener.

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