No Method, Just Madness

Last Saturday, I was in my pj’s with hair a la Tina Turner (looking less than savory and a long way away from presentable, is what I’m getting at here), and tidying up the room a bit. The Brit was due back from his two week long business trip to Japan and I didn’t want the place looking like I’d forged a fourteen day campaign to completely dishevel our room. (Which, I hadn’t. Well, not technically. But seriously, where WAS that thing I’d just had a second ago??) I was about to get showered and dressed and go pick him up from the airport when Rattie and Vinja intercepted me at the door to my bedroom and handed me an envelope. A square envelope with the number “1″ scrolled on the front. The “1″ suggested there would be more, which was cute and sweet, and fine, well, and good and all, but I had an airport to get to and a Brit to pick up. (And probably some cheese to eat, if I could find any.) They, however, were persistent.

Rattie said, simply, “The Brit gave this to us to give to you before he left. So…you should probably open it.”

Fine. But for the love of GOD did I need a shower and a straightening iron.

I opened it. Inside the red envelope was a square, laminated card…the front had a collage of pictures of The Brit and I throughout the past (almost) three years¹ of our relationship. The back had a type-written note from The Brit…a note that, for the sake of brevity, I’ll paraphrase:

Dear La Cubana Gringa,
Since you’re so groovy², I wanted to treat you to a surprise three year anniversary celebration just a bit early. So get ready for a day of many cards and many more surprises. And don’t worry about any of your commitments, they’ve all been taken care of. Trust me.
Love, The Brit.
PS – Your first instruction is to put on something nice and walk down to the place where we first met. And don’t be later than 11 AM!

I looked up at Rattie, confused. How was I supposed to pick him up and walk 3 blocks downhill to the house where we met at the same time? She pointed out that perhaps picking The Brit up was one of the commitments that had been taken care of. I promptly guessed she was in on something that I wasn’t.³

I rushed to the shower…quickly shaved all the right bits (as I anticipated that, in the very least, there would be cause to have a presentable pantyline)…tamed the Tina Turner right out with the straightening iron and ran down the hill. In heels. Which I would ask for applause for (it was rather difficult) except for the fact that, internally, I was whining about the possibility that I might have to walk back up the hill in them. And the fact that I was hungry. There’d better be some transportation and some sustenance involved in this little surprise, I thought, or else, SO HELP ME GOD, we just might not make it to four years!!

When I arrived at the stated location, there was a note near the door instructing me to knock on the passenger side window of the limo. The limo? I turned around. Indeed, there was a large, lengthy, black vehicle over there. I was apprehensive about approaching it, but I urged myself to follow the instructions. Besides, there might be cheese inside there…

I knocked on the window…and it slowly slid down to reveal…

To be continued…

1. On Saturday, we were a bit more than one week away from our three year anniversary.
2. Not the exact word he used, but since I’m paraphrasing and since I would very much like to be considered groovy some day, I slipped it in there.
3. Sometimes, I can be really wicked smart and put two and two together.