So I turned 29 last week.
Birthdays are a big deal in our house. It’s always been a way of saying, “You’re really special. I’m glad you’re alive and in my life. Here, have some noodles*.”
My birthday plans consisted of my parents coming into town, eating a fancy dinner, going to see The Avengers, and an eager shopping trip with my mom. Maybe even a day at the spa. Twenty-nine was going to be fabulous.
First, some birthday week lowlights:
- Falling into a pool with my iPhone in my pocket.
- A feverish Bean for a few days.
- A sunburned Bug the first day of summer vacation.
Now, some birthday week highlights:
- A giant cookie cake.
- A pedicure and Swedish massage at the spa.
- The Avengers and cookie dough bites I did not have to share (and a cherry coke I willingly did).
- A fancy seafood dinner.
- A zealous amount of shopping.
The second highest highlight of the week was my husband telling me we were going to do all these things and more…at the beach.
And the highest highlight of the week? Walking into a beautiful beach house, exploring all the rooms, finding out our particular rental had a theater room, and opening the door to have this happen:
What you see on my face is equal parts complete surprise and sheer terror. Imagine walking into what you believe to be an empty house, and into a soundproof, unlit room (IN THE BASEMENT, no less), only to be shouted at by eight people.
I’ll be honest; I jumped back, screamed, and immediately thought Saw VII was actually happening in the basement of our rental property. My mind, you guys. It’s a dark place.
My husband had me convinced that the charges that cropped up on our bank account a couple of months ago was to help our friend surprise his wife for her birthday. He also lied when he told me our family couldn’t make it to the beach because he didn’t give them enough notice. He triple-lied about our three-bedroom rental having a leak and the renters upgrading us free of charge upon check-in to the only one available the week before Memorial Day – a gorgeous eight-bedroom house.
Instead, I find out this has been in the works for months – literally since last year. I find out my parents, in-laws, sisters and their families have been keeping secrets, making the covert trip from near and far (ranging from a three-hour drive to a seven-hour drive to three round-trip plane tickets). I find out Bug, sweet, honest Bug, had been sitting on this piece of exciting news all month long without so much as a blip on my radar.
So fellas, take notes. Because nothing eases the blow of a woman aging quite like this: