lyn's birthday (m)

When my boys were little, someone gave them a book called "The True Story of the Three Little Pigs" which is a parody of the familiar tale, told from the wolf's point of view.

Here is my version of Lyn's birthday party last evening.

Planning began weeks ago when her sister, Jeannie, called to suggest we drive down to New York to celebrate Lyn's birthday on her actual birthday.  I agreed to drive us down.  That part was easy.

Next, we enlisted her sister, Valerie, who has an apartment in the city.  Valerie agreed to call Lyn and invite her out to dinner.  Just the two of them.   I mentioned our friend, V, would probably like to join us.  She accepted.

So far so good.

Then came the agonizing over which restaurant to select.  V made suggestions which I passed to Jeannie who forwarded them to Valerie who nixed them. ("I hate that place," she declared when asked about V's suggestion).  Jeannie wanted something "hip and happening."  I nixed that.  I asked Lyn for suggestions for the skating coaches who would be coming to NYC for dinner (not true, but I thought it was a good way to find out what she liked).  Lyn suggested a steak house.  Jeannie went online and saw photos of it and said it looked like a brothel.  Back and forth.  Back and forth went the emails.  After two weeks of this, I would have gone to McDonald's.  We settled on Union Square Cafe.  I can't remember how.

We had a plan (the only thing that would have pre-empted this is if Abby needed me, which she did not).

Jeannie arrives at 12 noon sharp on Wednesday.  It's pouring out.  She's wearing tight black jeans tucked into high black boots with the pointiest toes and a black leather jacket and a black Stetson-style hat.  What is it with this family?  They are always farputst (non-Yiddish translation: all dolled up).

The drive takes 3 hours and 36 minutes to get from my house to 42nd street.  It takes 24 minutes to get from 42nd Street to 43rd Street.  We kill the time talking about such intriguing things as, "Why is it that when you order steak medium, it's served rare?  Did they change the classifications?  Maybe it's like dress sizes.  I was always a size 2, now I'm a size zero!  How can anyone be a zero?" My thoughts exactly.

We arrive at the Westin Hotel in Times Square.  We have an hour to kill.  We decide to go to Saks (I have to pick up Lyn's gift).  Jeannie has a brainstorm.  "Let's save time and have our make-up done by the professionals." Brilliant.  We belly-up to the stools at the Chanel counter.  Someone named Gigi does my make-up.  I tell her not to make me look like The Painted Whore of Babylon.  I can tell she's disappointed she didn't get a customer with high cheekbones.  She does her best.

We finish early (Gigi plays up my eyes and plays down my lips).  We run back to the hotel.  I'm in a sweat  by the time I get to my room.  My face is beet red.  My make-up is running.  I wipe my face a bit and the towel looks like The Shroud of Turin.  Crikey.

I wrap Lyn's gift.  We get in a taxi.  We have to cross town and the traffic is bad.  Valerie calls Jeannie and tells her we will be late.  Jeannie is stressed.  But not too stressed to notice the ribbon on my gift is too long.  Jeannie whips out a Swiss Army knife with a scissors and cuts the ribbon.  She tells the cab to speed up.  He is going too fast.  I decide to put on a seat belt.  The seat belt is already belted behind me.  I pry it loose and clip it on.

We finally get to Valerie's.  Jeannie pays the cabdriver.  I can't get the seatbelt undone.  We look up.  Lyn and Alexander are getting out of a cab and headed to Valerie's apartment.  I can't get the seatbelt undone.  I ask Jeannie to help.  She can't get it undone.  We tell the cabdriver.  He looks at us with dead eyes and says nothing.  I am claustrophobic and starting to panic.  I remember the Swiss Army knife and say, "JEANNIE--CUT THIS OFF ME!" She does.  The cabdriver looks at us with dead eyes. 

We arrive at Valerie's apartment.  You know the rest.  Lyn is shocked.  We have drinks and give Lyn her presents. The Prada bag is exquisite.  I'm thinking of giving my Birkin bag to Susan ahead of schedule and getting the Prada for myself.

We go to the restaurant.  V is there.  The waitress almost blows the surprise that V is there.  Lyn starts to think about why the waitress says, "One" guest is here when there should be "two."  I can't take it anymore.  I push Lyn ahead to the table before she figures it out.

It is great seeing Lyn see V.  We sit down, and have a wonderful two hours.

I get back to the hotel and flop down in the bed.

Party-planning is exhausting, but seeing a friend be so happy is rewarding.

Before I fall asleep, I wonder who is the next friend to turn 60 and realize I have a few years.

I sleep soundly.