When I first starting dating DILF, I cobbled together an impression of him, as all new lovers do. He was an art major, a photographer, worked in advertising, liked jazz, was fairly well-read and enjoyed ethnic cuisine. He also was a computer and sci-fi geek. Throw in impeccable ethics, good manners and hygiene, and a love of playing cards, and I was hooked.

Certainly, all of those things are true. Early on, our dates included Around the Coyote, elegant little jazz venues and funky little restaurants.

But there is more to Dilf than meets the eye. When he and I started dating, he shared an apartment with his brother (who earned the nickname "Towel Boy." That's an amusing story for another day.) Sometimes, when I had to wait for Dilf for one reason or another, I would sit in his living room and watch TV with his brother. One evening, he was watching ESPN or ESPN II or ESPN:Voyager or whatever. On the TV was a hillbilly spectacle known as Swamp Buggy Racing.

Just as Dilf was entering the room and looking at the TV, I snorted, "I can't believe they're actually providing commentary to this, as if it were a real sport." Dilf and his brother looked at each other, and Towel Boy started laughing. "Oooh, a small flaw in the perfect woman!" he said. I looked up at Dilf's face, horrifed to see the chagrin on his face.

As we left I said, "You don't really like that stuff, do you?"

"Well," the slightly defensive Dilf responded,"it's interesting to see how different vehicles respond in different situations..." He might have said more, but I blocked it from my memory.

Fast forward to this afternoon, at the lunch table. Dilf is reading the local paper and notices the Du Page County Fair is next weekend. "This year," he declares firmly, "We are going to the Demolition Derby!"

If someone would like to volunteer to take my place, please step forward. Please? Lord help me.