I was sent to get dressed for the evening’s festivities. Not only does he hold all of the power in that he’s the only one who knows what we’re doing for the night, he’s able to boss me around telling me when to get dressed? Why is this sort of a turn on?

I brought along a dress which he talked me out of and suggested I wear jeans because Erin was wearing jeans.

I thought Erin was going to dinner at 8pm and had no time for me or my birthday?

“How do you know Erin’s wearing jeans?”

“I just know.”

“Does Erin know where we’re going or what we’re doing?”

“No, I just told her to wear something comfortable.”

Now he has at least two women planning to be angry with him for the next several years. Erin is a fashion maven. She’ll look appropriate whether we’re yachting or picketing outside the old theatre. I will look like I forgot my bowling shoes at the local lanes and didn’t bring enough money to cover the rental fee.

Greg then asked if I would like to join him on his next and final errand.

I looked at him very closely for a reaction.

If I declined the offer to go along, could this mean I’ll be missing out on the most fun part of the party or, does he want me to say no, I’ll wait here so he can pick up the chocolate fountain and have it set up before I see it?

In a last minute switcheroo, I decided to tag along. He seemed fine either way. Hmmmm.

I did notice him start to remove car seats from the mini-van Birthday chariot and I asked why he was setting up the stow-and-go seating.

“Is someone getting into the van?”

“Yes, briefly.”

“This van?”

“Yes.”

“This van I haven’t vacuumed since the Cheerio powder explosion of March 2010 van?”

“Oh, maybe I should have thought about that.”

I scrambled to throw Barbie corpses with various missing limbs into a pile behind the rear bench where I had already stacked the pool towels, a diaper bag and a GIGANTIC BOX OF CLOTHES I FEEL COMFORTABLE IN and did my best to de-crumb the mats using the edges of my hands in a scraping motion towards the sliding doors.

Our first stop was to pick up Erin who was wearing white capris and looking comfortable. Way more comfortable than I looked in jeans. How could I let her sit in my van with those crisp, white capris knowing our seven year olds glossy, lidless make-up was somewhere in that van and I did not see it when I was flinging prosthetic limbs into the Barbie pile.

Our second stop was to pick up my other friend, the one who was in town for something that would unfortunately overlap with whatever we were planning. She was in dressy, black pants. I started to sweat, thankful the Cheerio powder was surprisingly absorbent.

We arrived at my in-law’s house. The place we started before Greg asked if I wanted to accompany him on his last errand and Greg went to the fridge, retrieving the fixings for a fabulous cheese platter, olives, baguettes and the champagne started to flow.

This was it. Life doesn’t get any better. I’m with my two best friends and our spouses, we’re pigging out on pepperettes for one friend and goats milk cheese for the other. It didn’t seem appropriate to attack her aggressive and insane campaign to convince us every human is allergic to cow’s milk. Greg had thought of everything and my jeans were feeling comfortable.

To be continued….