Wednesday, January 20, 2010

My Birthday Turned Into An Episode of Maury

I turned 41 today. I woke up with a bunch of awesome messages via Facebook and Twitter wishing me a very happy birthday. It was lovely.

Then Mr. Misha woke up. Nothing. No hug. No handmade card. No 'Happy Birthday to my wife', nothing. I was pretty sure he forgot it. I never thought he would ever forget my birthday. You see, Paul Stanley from KISS and I share the same birthday. Since Mr. Misha is such a KISS fan, I didn't think it was possible he'd forget.

I made breakfast. Nothing. I vented on Facebook and Twitter. I got lots of sympathy. I'm pretty sure someone tipped him off, because a few hours later he came in my room and wished me a happy birthday. I felt much better.

During our conversation, my mom left me a voicemail. "I'm calling to wish you a happy birthday daughter. I woke up at 3:30am this morning and couldn't fall back asleep for an hour and a half. I'm blaming you." (I was born at 4:06am) I called her back and apologized for waking her up and thanked her for giving birth to me. My mom proudly declared that she had ordered my birthday present online (this is a big deal for her) and half of it should arrive today. It did. She got me a heated mattress pad (it came today) and she pre-ordered the new Sookie Stackhouse book for me, which will arrive in May. I thanked her again; we finished up our talk and hung up.

I played around on the Internet, watched some TV and then decided a nap was in order. My nap was lovely and I woke up to Mr. Misha holding a big, black box. "I think it's flowers, the box says FTD" he exclaimed. I opened the box and sure enough, it was two-dozen roses. They are quite pretty- peach, yellow, reds, dark pinks. The pug was very interested in them, so I let her sniff the flowers while I read the card. The note was signed, "Love, Dad". I started laughing. Mr. Misha was confused, and then it hit him. "You don't know who sent these, do you?" "Nope." I replied. I had no freaking idea which Dad sent me the flowers. I thought it was one dad, he thought it was the other.

Since it was ingrained in my head from infancy, the first thought I had was, "I don't know who to send the thank you note to!" I couldn't call one of them up and say thank you. If he wasn't the one who sent them, it would hurt his feelings/make him feel guilty. I decided to call FTD. Here is how the conversation went:
FTD: Thank you for calling FTD. How can I help you?

Me: I have a problem. I just had flowers delivered and the note was signed, 'Love, Dad'. I know this sounds like an episode of Maury, but I don't know which Dad sent them. Could you help me?

FTD: (stifling a laugh) Yes, ma'am.

She asked me for a bunch of info and found the order.

FTD: I'm not allowed to give out the information without the sender's approval, so I am going to put you on hold while I call your Dad.

Me: Oh no! I don't want him to know that I didn't know which one it was!

FTD: I'll phrase it so he will never know.

Me: Okay.

I was on hold for a few moments and then she came back on and told me which Dad had sent them.

Me: Thank you so much! I'm going to call my mom right now and tell her what a floozy she is.

FTD: (giggles) Alright. You have a good day. Is there anything else I can do for you?

Me: No, thank you. I appreciate your help and discretion.

I immediately called my mother and called her a floozy. She didn't deny her floozieness; she just wanted to know why I was calling her one this time.


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