It does not matter how well one makes plans, something always goes awry, at least for me. I try, but I think it must be congenital in my case. Let me set the stage.
A few weeks ago the wife of my old friend Joe Volga produced a beautiful surprise “breakfast birthday” party at 7:30 a.m. and it was a huge success. Nobody, especially Joe, would expect a celebratory event at that time of day. We gathered in the surrounding bushes of his house in Uplands, waiting till the exact moment. One of us knocked on the door, which was opened by my groggy friend, who then had 50 voices shout “Happy birthday!” What fun, eh? We had a slap-up breakfast and went on our way.
I had been down in the dumps prior to that, because I could not come up with a creative idea of how to celebrate my Kitty’s birthday, but Joe’s example got my mind rushing. Why not do the same thing for my wife on her big day? She would love it. I knew that because she had loved Joe’s, so there.
However, even the cats shook their heads when I told Mrs. Bleak, our cook, of my plans. The cook refused to have anything to do with my idea and decided to take the day in question off. I found her churlish, and not for the first time.
On the birthday, with the cats lying low, my wife answered the door with no bra on, wearing a T-shirt that said “More wine, ya bastard” and no makeup. When the same 50 people saw her, they only got as far as “Happy….” before fleeing en masse for the club and its welcoming breakfast.
Kitty stared first at our quickly departing friends before turning her thunderous gaze at poor me. I did not know she would have wanted notice to dress up before receiving our guests; Joe didn’t seem to mind.
Later it became clear that her female friends could not have imagined being roused in that way and somehow thought that I would have dropped Kitty a big hint beforehand. I thought it was supposed to be a surprise. Not that big a surprise was the clear answer.
How could I have been so wrong. All that work for nothing. There were a lot of leftovers, so I sat eating a two-pound bacon sandwich contemplating the unfairness of life as Hamlet would have.
Women remain a mystery to me, and I am damned tired of it, if you will excuse the language of an overwrought man. One does one’s best and all for naught. As the Bible tells us, “And some fell upon stony ground.”
One day perhaps the key will be found for this female Gordian knot that has perplexed mankind down through the ages. It was simply to be an unexpected breakfast with a few friends. How bad could that be?
Outside of bankrupting oneself in a jewelry shop, how is one to know what these creatures want? I don’t want anything more than peace and quiet, and that goes for most of my friends as well. Could we just be left to our own devices, which include martinis, books, newspapers and roast beef dinners? A simple request, you would think. Phooey.
Last week I got wind of the fact that my wife and a few of her friends were planning a kayak party at which we were to launch ourselves in these small devices into the grey Pacific. I am going to take a stand on this. No.
To be woken up for a surprise breakfast is one thing. Possibly drowning in rough seas while gurgling “Help” is out of the question. The last time Kitty had something in mind, it was a rock-climbing wall. You could have tortured me and I would not have known what she meant by that term, that is until I found myself hanging high above a grinning crowd from a concrete wall while shouting for assistance. No, I am out, but I can be found at my club should anybody be looking.
Copyright Christopher Dalton 2015
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