Sunday, February 13, 2011

Did He Not Say: Surprise Me?

"Surprise me," he said, in reference to a St. Valentine’s Day weekend date. So I did.

“I booked dinner and dancing for tonight,” I said, as my husband entered the kitchen with Saturday morning newspapers and fresh bagels. He stopped in his tracks, asking,

“Oh really? Where?”

I pointed to my laptop, where I had the restaurant website bookmarked.

“Oh no, you didn’t,” he said, staring at the screen.

The Three Kings – Sinatra, Elvis and Michael Jackson Live. Dinner and Dancing,” he read aloud.

“It’s non-refundable,” I told him.

He gasped. “Baby, you’re killing me. How is the food at this place?”

“Who cares?” I said. “I want to dance and have fun. It was either The Three Kings or a Polish Valentine's Day dinner dance at the local Knights of Columbus hall and I don’t know how to do the Polka.”

“I thought you were going to cook me a steak for Valentine’s Day,” he said. I told him that he could eat one there.

“How can you be upset about this?" I asked. "It it will be fun, and if not fun, then most definitely funny. Look, I’m going stir crazy this winter. I’m putting on the brightest piece of clothing I own suitable for public exposure and I’m going to watch The Three Kings. There we can eat, dance and talk to a room full of happy strangers. Are you coming or not?”

There was a long pause. Then he sighed and said,

“I’m sure it will be a Thriller and since I got you, under my skin, I’d follow you even to a jail house rock.”

(This is why I love this man.)

So, I had a few free hours to roam before our night out, and did what any girl with the Winter Blues does on a Saturday morning. I went shopping and bought the most impractical pair of shoes on the planet because, when I tried them on, they made me feel awesome. Next, I went to the local YMCA and ran two miles. Running makes me happy, even during the darkest days of winter. Today the exercise would have cured my cold weather funk if not for the elderly lady who grinned every time she passed me on the track. Honestly, I hope I can run that fast in my Golden years.

Finally, in preparation for Valentine’s weekend night out, I went home and drank a bottle of raspberry flavored water in a steaming hot shower. Three hours later the house was clean, the babysitter was present and we were out the door.

Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra and Michael Jackson performed live, I’m certain of this, since I saw them before martinis were ordered. Seated at our table were eight very friendly strangers. We had salad at 7:30 p.m., but when two hours passed and dinner was not yet served, it was every hungry man for himself. We began fighting over the bread basket like contestants on the show Survivor.

Nevertheless, the DJ was pretty good, so dancing distracted me from the fact that the service was less than stellar. The waiter brought us a free round of drinks and a slew of apologies. My husband’s steak was almost as rubbery as the Michael Jackson impersonator’s legs.

“What was the high point of the evening for you?” he asked as we left.

“When Michael Jackson shouted HOO! and fell on his rear. That part made me cry and snort-laugh martini out of my nose,” I said, adding, “How about you?”

He could not decide.

“Was it when fake Frank Sinatra couldn’t find the switch on his microphone, or when he pointed out his primary care doctor at table 1? Maybe it was when Elvis “Smith” rapped a version of “All Shook Up,” or when they turned the air conditioner on over our table and I had to wipe the icicles off your hair, or when we returned to our car to find that the guys running the valet parking had left the lights on for four hours. The whole time was just so great and I can't choose,” he said, exasperated.

“I’m so sorry, but you had nothing planned,” I said, laughing.

“It’s alright. Dancing was fun. Anyway, I’ll get you back. Happy Valentine’s Day and you are NEVER surprising me with a night out again, alright?”

I shook my head in compliance to his request, but behind my back, my fingers were crossed.


Putz said...

haoppy valentines to you old romantic you, me and elizabeth have poker night on valentines but we both know our spoluses are ours and nobdy elses, or at least that is what we hope , i will get my annual babyruth candy bar under my plate at dinner time and she will get a homeade valentine from me and being diabetic i will either eat or not eat my candybar sometimes durning the day<>><<>so CHEERS to you and yours loren< CHEERS

Loren Christie said...

To Mr. Putz, my favorite blogosphere character, Happy Valentine's Day. :)

Caity said...

Oh my goodness this is amazing and you are both amazing. I started laughing hysterically at his song titles line and laughed to the end of your post. I am glad you had a wonderful night!

Loren Christie said...

hi Caity, thank you for commenting here. I hope you and J are doing great. luv Loren

rhymeswithplague said...

Hey, Loren, long time no see! What a funny post. I'm glad I returned just at the time I did and caught it. I don't know why I haven't dropped by your blog in a while, but I'm back.

And what a great article about you in The Long Island Advance.

I would like to recommend this blog for your reading pleasure. It's by a 76-year-old lady in Arkansas.

Loren Christie said...

Hi Mr. Brague. Nice to hear from you and I'll be sure to check out the blog you linked. Thank you!

Dear Internet Traveler,

Welcome to my writer's blog, started about six years ago for fun. Over time, the writing I have posted has ranged from personal reflection, to Long Island history research, to tall tales for my own amusement, to feature articles for local newspapers. As you can see from topics listed here, I travel in many mental directions in regard to interests. Click on the tabs and labels to explore my strange mind which senses that you may be having a criss-cross day. If so, perhaps this blog will distract you. However, please note that if you tell me my blog is beautiful just to get me to advertise rhinoplasty surgery and cheap drugs from Canada in your comment, I will ask the gods to give you a tail that cannot be concealed.


Loren Christie

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