Many moons ago when Bill and I were just dating (and still living in New Jersey) we went on hayride to a pumpkin patch during the month of October. I'll spare you the details of the haunted house that the farm had on its premises because of course the scary people all went after me. But we had a nice time anyway.
So let me describe the scene in all its romantic glory: It was night, there was a full moon and stars out. We were on some farm out in the country somewhere between the Boonies and where Jesus left his sandals. I know. How very, "Aww."
The hayride dropped us off in a pumpkin patch. And for the record, hay isn't as soft and smushy as you think it is from watching old Westerns. It's hard and itchy and pokes you in places you don't want hay poking you. Anyway, we wandered around looking for just the right pumpkin. At one point we got separated and when I looked around it was dark and eerily quiet and I thought to myself, well isn't this the perfect setting for some crazed maniac to come running out of the nearby cornstalks wielding a chainsaw? So I stopped my quest for the perfect pumpkin and frantically went looking for my beloved who was only a few feet away but how was I to know that, I mean we're talking total darkness. And in my defense he was kneeling down to look at some pumpkins so of course I might have overlooked him.
He looked up at me oblivious to my panic and smiled and showed me the pumpkin he had picked out. How could I be mad that he wasn't there to save me from an almost horrible death by chainsaw when he looked so cute? I walked up to him, then we embraced and had this magical, romantic kiss by moonlight. And no chainsaw wielding murderers showed up to ruin it. Well, of course not because the rules in horror movie world state that just kissing does not lead to death by a crazed maniac. Everyone knows that.