I planned a surprise for The Fella’s birthday on Saturday night. All he knew was he needed to dress up and be ready by 6pm. I like surprising people. When people try to surprise me and I get a whiff of it, my control freak comes out so unless they are really, really good at hiding things from me (re: they are liarheads*) it’s not gonna fly.
So we got all dolled up and I blindfolded him. (Kinky, I know.) As I’m driving along taking a circuitous route to confuse his sense of direction (which is, even blindfolded, better than mine), we stopped at a red light. I whipped out my camera and snapped a picture of him all decked out in his suit with my scarf tied over his eyes. Then, because the light was long and I feel compelled to photo document most moments of my life, I turned the camera on myself. As I put my finger up to my lips in a “Shhh!” sign to pose for the picture, a girl crossing the street peered into the car, took one look at us and started laughing.
I don’t blame her. We were quite a sight.
Side note: At least I did not make him wear a decorated paper bag over his head that said things like, “It’s My Birthday!” which, yes, my sister did to me once upon a time. And then she took me on a very, very windy road wherein I worried I might throw up on myself before we arrived at the surprise location. Skip to the end: I didn’t puke and managed to eat at the surprise dinner party she and all my friends threw me. Awww. Cute.
Back to Saturday, I drove around a bit confused as to where to park since I knew it was on Pike right down by the Market but when I checked my directions I realized, oh shit, I didn’t write down the actual address! Quickly, I texted our friends, Wookie and Kitten, hoping they knew since the second part of the surprise was that they were joining us for the evening’s festivities. Luckily, I have prepared friends and am a very skilled texter even while driving. (Don’t ask The Fella. It makes him nervous when I text and drive.)
So now I know the address but um, I still don’t know where the damn place is. No addresses are marked down there! Ok, just play it cool. It’ll all work out. Just. Chill. Sizz.
After we parked and started walking in the right direction, I started in on The Fella.
“Do you want to know where we are going?”
“No. You don’t have to tell me.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to know?”
“Do you want to tell me or something?”
“Um well. See? The thing is I think I know where we are going but you might know if I tell you and then you can help me.” (Sheepish.)
“Ok. . .Where are we going?”
“The Can Can Club!”
“What’s that? Is it French?”
Uh oh. We’re in trouble. We keep walking and luckily we ran right into Kitten and Wookie standing out front of the club. Phew! We had arranged for VIP seats which, sadly, turned out to mean that two of us had our backs to the stage. We chose off of a pre-set menu and the food was just. . .alright. The mac & cheese Kitten and I had was runny but had good flavor, and the chocolate cake tasted like Entemann’s which was very disappointing. Despite the so-so food, the show itself was really good- awesome performers and good energy. I particularly enjoyed the end when they dragged three women on stage and then made them dance and gesticulate and sing along to the likes of “Here I Go Again” by Whitesnake while the scantily clad dancer guy gyrated around them. Everyone in the audience was singing along and clapping. I loved it.
But most importantly, The Fella had a good time. And that’s really all that matters. He was the birthday after all and my most specialist person.
*Liarheads brought to you by Kaply. Thanks, friend.