Sometimes I think my life is a great big episode of Punk’d.
Case in point, my boyfriend and I’s third anniversary last weekend.
If you know me, then you know I’m like a kid on Christmas morning when it comes to celebration days. I plan and look forward to special occasions months in advance, and when the day finally arrives, I can’t wait a minute longer. When I got home from work last Friday night, I was ready to get the party started, and have the party last all weekend long (preferably out of town someplace charming with a couples massage involved).
Just after breakfast on Saturday morning, while relaxing and watching The Daily Show, my boyfriend pauses the TV, skips away into the bedroom, and emerges with his iPad in hand. With the screen positioned away from me, he loads a page, then excitedly shows me something to read on it. In the transition, my grin grows big and my heart fills with anticipation. My mind flashes to all kinds of scenarios about what was in store… A love poem? A booking confirmation for a romantic getaway? A *gasp* proposal??
At the top of the screen there’s a Mickey Mouse logo. Oh yay – we’re going to Disneyland! So I ask/declare “We’re going to Disneyland?!”
He says, with a quizzical expression on his face, “Um, no.”
Ok, so I’ll read and find out. The first few words… first few paragraphs… read like a business report. Ok, interesting… Ohh, I get it, he’s trying to be tricky! That rascal.
So I read some more, and it’s more of the “report.” (My, my, he’s really put a lot of effort into this trick.)
When I can stand it no more, my impatient eyes skip to the bottom of the page to see where the joke ends and the real message begins.
More business jargon. Hmm. Followed by more business jargon. Huh. Followed by… The end.
No way. Impossible. Can’t be. I must have missed something.
I crookedly smile, and backtrack to the middle of the page. (He’s a clever fellow who’s anticipated I’ll skip ahead, so he’s buried the message).
Alas, in the days since, I’ve been searching the house high and low for Ashton Kutcher, as my mind refuses to grasp the reality that the report really was a report. It’s like finding out that Santa Claus isn’t real (which obviously is also not true).