The best way to successfully throw a surprise party is to do it four weeks early. That way the guest of honour is pretty well guaranteed not to suspect a thing. My hubby exploited the technique the other night to great effect. The only problem was, he told me what time the reservation was really for (for what I thought was going to be a romantic tete-a-tete) and then proceeded to get there in a circuitous route that had me fuming. I hate being late for things. Of course, he was deliberately stalling to make sure everyone else was there first... He didn't really mind, because that way he got to laugh at me for the whole evening. Men. Of course, I had to laugh at myself too.
One of my favourite cards was from my daughter. It was grey and bore in large letters the message: Rest in Peace. Inside it said, "Oopsie! Kinda got ahead of myself there. I mean, "Happy Birthday." I confess, I hooted.
So I'm officially fifty, even if I'm not. As the T-shirt I received stated so nicely: You're not getting older, you're increasing in value.
Better believe it baby!
(If I were a truly worthy blogger, I'd be using this as a springboard to some kind of profound social commentary. I am obviously not a truly worthy blogger.)
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