I had two surprises on my 15th wedding anniversary.
No, neither involved getting my cherry popped. That is so yesterday.
Surprise #1: Flying High
We don’t always get gifts for each other, and this year I was at a total loss. 15 years is crystal and watches. Ken’s not a crystal kind of guy (candy dish anyone?) and he just got a new Garmin. I thought I might get us some Cristal champagne (get it?) because Jay Z and I are tight and I do whatever he does. But did you know that stuff is $250? That’s like $10 a sip, and I only pay that for chocolate soda.
So, I settled on getting Ken…nothing. Except a mushy card that made me cry.
He, however, brought out the big guns. I knew it had to be a major deal because he told Sam to get ready with the camera. He handed me the cutest card:
(I told you we were all about the farts around here…)
Then I pulled out of the envelope….certificates for Ken and I to go skydiving. No shit. I almost threw up. I’ve talked lots of smack about wanting to skydive, but I hate to fly and I hate heights and I don’t want to orphan my children and why jump out of a perfectly good airplane??? But Ken said we have to do it, so we will. I do what he tells me. We’ll each tandem with an instructor who probably doesn’t want to die, so we should be safe. Ken has arranged for me to be videotaped while falling
to my death. It should be fun to see how I look shitting myself in the air as opposed to while running.
Sam was supposed to take my “I can’t believe it” picture when I opened the envelope, but he had it on video instead, so you get this:
Surprise #2: A Visitor For Dinner
After the skydiving shock, we headed out for a late dinner. I needed a drink just to entertain the idea of jumping out of a plane at 12,500 feet.
We sat on the patio, enjoying a drink and
trying to figure out of the host(ess) was a man or woman staring lovingly into each other's eyes, when I was felt something on my leg. Then I felt something in my lap. I looked down to see my napkin fluttering. Something was under it. And it wasn’t Ken feeling me up on our anniversary. I screamed and threw the napkin on the patio. “There is something alive on me!! I think it’s a bird!” By this time I was standing up, hyperventilating. Ken then said, “No it’s a BAT!” Yes, friends for a brief moment in time I had a bat on my lap, dangerously close to my crotch. Bats suck. They are eerie and elusive and rabid and icky.
As Ken and I were jumping around the patio, the busboy came out to try to capture the thing, which was fluttering all over the place (clearly trying to get back to my crotch). Every time the bat jumped, the busboy jumped. I could hear him coaching himself under his breath, “You’re okay. It’s only a bat. You can do this.” Meanwhile, Ken asked if I wanted to move inside, but being the practical person I am, I said no. I mean what are the chances of that ever happening again my lifetime, much less during this dinner? Holy shit. You could travel to Africa for two weeks and never so much as get bitten by a tse tse fly. But, go to some fancy patio on your anniversary and poof! Bat in crotch.
To say the least it was a memorable time.
Now, we have to think about this jump. Would you do it?