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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The big 5-0
The problem is, this one was marketed as fiction. It took the police in Poland all of four years to realize that Krystian Bala's 2003 novel bore an uncanny resemblance to an unsolved murder case dating from 2000, and realized that it was an only slightly fictionalized account of how the novelist murdered his wife's suspected lover.
