best cure for panic attacks = jousting

Seriously. This is what happened: Prince William turned 27, spring officially turned into summer, and I turned 25. I can say this with zen-like calm now, but Friday it was another story. Friday I was like, "25 is so OLD!" And, "But I...don't...wanna...be 25!!!" [said in the escalating, whiny manner of a two-year-old preparing for a tantrum. You are familiar, I am sure]. There was stomping and pouting and, yes, actual tears at one point. So I helped tear down and build a fence. Because that tends to help. But what really saved me was the next day, when Warren picked me up and took me to a magical place known only to a few lucky elite...

Yes, my friends, I am talking about Medieval Times--the "restaurant" staged around a great sand pit where wiry teens with poor facial hair don glittery leggings (aka, "chain mail") and shiny body armor and pretend to run lances/axes/swords/clubbed-balls-attached-to-chains into each other for the peace of their kingdom. A sand pit around which--according to the website--"privileged royal guests are transported to faraway lands including a romantic snowy rendezvous in the woods and an authentic medieval tournament -- with the help of Hollywood-caliber special effects, of course." Of course!

There is no better cure for a birthday-induced panic attack than watching this:

Whilst eating this:

And hoping against hope that this man:

will press one of his carnations to his lips and toss it in your general direction (this is not even remotely made up. After each game, the winning knights ride around the sand pit with a rose clamped between their teeth throwing flowers they've graced with a kiss to the screaming audience. If that's not drama, I don't know what is.)

Our knight, the yellow knight was "well-versed in the arts of chivalry, yet in attack, he was the lion uncaged!" We totally "Let the ring of steel herald his arrival and the smoke of battle linger in his wake" because "a legend of the Realm walked among us." This was actual dialogue, which is making you dizzy and a little bit swoony right now, I can tell.

It was, in the only word I know to properly express my feelings, awesome.

[Warren should get major points for not only taking me to a place where I could eat an entire roast chicken with my bare fingers (so romantic), but also for taking me to Dangerously Delicious Pies in Baltimore (so dangerous, so delicious)), chopping up strawberries and peaches at 3 in the morning to top the divine homemade blueberry pancakes he made me for breakfast in bed, pretending that my panic attack was endearing, taking me on a long calming walk that included an invigorating tree climb, washing all varieties of dishes, saying and doing every wonderful thing, and basically making me feel like the world's most loved person on my traumatic 25th. I know, you totally want to shake his hand now.]

Finally, if you were wondering whether or not Warren and I were the oldest people there, you would be right to. We were not. Birthday shout outs went to a few 41, 54, and 85-year olds. Miracles never cease.