You could try, but you’d be hardpressed to find someone who enjoys their birthday more than I do.
With a whole day seemingly designed with me in mind, I’m as happy as a kid with a cake. I adore a long birthday lunch with loved ones, a dinner with friends, and an abundant and bountiful presentation of gifts as partygoers sing me the birthday song.
I don’t mind the aging aspect of a birthday, either, for no matter how old I get, I’m still two years behind Demi Moore, younger than Jane Fonda and born within the same decade as Jennifer Aniston. Call me odd if you must, but I take comfort in that.
My beloved spouse, on the other hand, looks at his birthday in a totally different light. Simply put, he despises them.While I adore walking into a room full of balloons and being the center of attention as the world yells “Surprise!,” the mere thought of it makes Pat break into a cold sweat.
Although I’m loath to disclose his age, he has a very significant birthday rapidly approaching, and he’s scared to death that a surprise bash will be thrown in his honor. “There is to be no party,” he grumbled to me just the other day.
“There’s nothing I hate more than one of those shindigs that you women are always conjuring up.” He then mumbled something about nonsense, wasted money and the misuse of a roll of perfectly good streamers.
Talk about your party poopers.
The thought of not throwing him a party almost left me sick inside.
“How can you possibly expect me to mark this prestigious day and milestone of your life if there is no one to jump out of a cake?” I asked him as I followed him around with a party hat on my head and a horn in my hand.
“There’ll be no cake,” he insisted, “and I can promise you this, if I walk into a room full of people and they yell ‘Surprise!,’ I’m going to impale myself on the birthday candle.”
He then gave me that Clint Eastwood stare to let me know that he meant it, too.
It’s the boys who have been getting a big kick out of their father’s birthday discomfort. They’ve been whispering the birthday song in his ear and conjuring up images of singing waitresses and spotlights dropping out of the sky. They’ve even been painting mental pictures of marching bands that might sound up at any time when Pat unexpectedly walks around the corner.
“Just imagine, Dad,” young Huey said over his noodles last night, “everyone you know and some fine folks that you don’t will be hiding in a room and they will all be waiting for you. They’ll all want to talk to you and you alone. You’ll be belle of the ball, the center of attention, the focus of the group.” He paused long enough to swallow, took a long draw out of his glass of milk and then pinched his father on the cheek as he added, “You’ll make such a handsome guest of honor.”
“Yeah,” young Lawrence chimed in, “they’ll all bring gifts, too, Dad, and there’ll be piles of them. Some presents will be real and others will be gag gifts. The bad part is that you won’t be able to tell the difference, so you just have to ‘oooh’ and ‘ahhh’ and pretend that you like them either way.”
“Oh yeah,Mom will probably make you write thank-you notes, too, Dad,” added little Charlie. Then they all had a good chuckle at their father’s expense.
Now, the poor man is so nervous that he won’t go anywhere. He turned down an invitation for coffee with an old friend, refused to take me on a dinner date, and when the doorbell unexpectedly rang this afternoon, he crept down the hall and locked himself in the bathroom.
I guess it’s tough for a guy to celebrate his aging by having a large and fun-filled surprise bash. Especially when he’s married to a woman who will always be younger than Demi Moore.
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her at www.loriclinch. com.