Earlier in life, I was a big fan of surprising my wife. I say “earlier in life,” because it didn’t take me long to realize that she’s not the fan I am. I’d spend weeks meticulously planning an all-day scavenger hunt date that would culminate in a picnic lunch by the lake, only to realize that she was having an anxiety attack in the passenger seat because “Lake Picnic” wasn’t in her little purse calendar.
Don’t get me wrong, there are surprises she still gets a kick out of: cupcakes. Target gift cards. “You know how to use the dishwasher?!?” But for all practical purposes, my “surprise and delight” days are over. I have to save the Surp&Del for the really big events, like skiing in Austria on our 20th anniversary.
(I wonder if she reads this blog?)
I said my surprise and delight days are over. However, it appears that hers are just cranking up. You see, I’ve been informed that this Friday night I will be participating in a double date with some friends to an undisclosed location. Oh, they know. She knows. But I am woefully underinformed.
Think about that: 75% of my party knows where we’re going. Me? I don’t know how to dress, what time we’re leaving, what the destination is, or whether there will be bacon involved. Because let’s face it: bacon makes every surprise even more awesome.
And there’s no special occasion. It’s not my birthday. Our anniversary was two months ago. It’s even a wee bit early for St. Patrick’s Day (did you see what I did there?).
I realize this could blow up in my face. I realize this could be an elaborate set-up that they’ve been preparing me for for weeks, and it’s just going to be an evening where we sample McDonald’s new McBites® and go watch Happy Feet 2 at the buck-fifty theater. Or it could be a surprise where I’m supposed to enjoy it, but really really really really don’t. (If the words “pottery class” enter into the picture, I will have to pull off the greatest acting gig of my life.)
What it all boils down to is that this is driving me crazy. I’ve tried to play it off: “No big deal, nothing to see here, I have a moderate amount of curiosity about the weekend festivities.” But I. Want. To. Know.
So I need your help, blog readers: if you were my wife, where would you be taking me this Friday night? (And don’t say, “The edge of a cliff,” because that’s just rude.) Comment below.