Predictable "That Girl..."

Oh, this one is a winner.

So my Emmaus Reunion Group meets on Wednesday nights. We call ourselves The Turtles. There are six of us, and we are very close. All-up-in-ya-business close. So last night we were celebrating the 31st birthday of one of The Turtles, our dear friend Jennifer. Only she didn't know.

We had flying text messages yesterday to prepare for the surprise festivities, and I offered to bring the balloons.

I go to this place in Washington to get the balloons, and I can't help but think my Grandma, Toots, could've given the lady who worked there a run for her money. Wow, it took FOR-EV-ER. (Sandlot Style.)

But I digress. On my way to the car I couldn't help but think how cute I must have looked ready to fly away with balloons in hand. Those of you who have seen me in real time know that it would take A LOT of balloons for that to happen. A LOT.
Well, as Johnny Cash says, God's gonna cut you down, and as I try to place the multiple balloons in the backseat of my car, I end up bent over in a less than flattering position with my bum in the air trying desperately to shove those balloons in the backseat and to do so in a way that meant I could see out my back window.

Aw, forget it. Reverse is way overrated. My moment of gloriousness holding the balloons on HWY 57 is eclipsed by the several moments of my bum hanging out in the air. Finally I get them all shoved in.


And she's off. Driving down the highway like a mobile freak show as passers-by stare in wonderment.
Gosh, didn't they ever get birthday balloons? Every expression said, What is this strange and wonderful world that is consumed by latex and helium? Whatever. I am on a mission. Operation: surprise the heck out of Jennifer.

I have to figure out how to stealthily get the balloons down the stairs of the church, which is like a cruel maze. I am the mouse. Who moved my cheese? No, seriously. If you've ever worshiped with us or been in our building, you know I'm right. It takes an act of God to memorize the location of the bathroom.

When I get to the church, relief settles in. Oh, yes! Praise the Lamb, the lights are off in the sanctuary. I get up to the door. Even better, there can't be anybody in there! The door is soooo locked. The light is on up front, but I'm sure it's just Seth getting ready for worship practice. I fish around for the right key, and begin inserting my keys in the door. I'm a housing director, remember? I got more keys than Jim Neideffer, my high school janitor. I am trying and trying and trying. Finally, someone comes and switches the lock for my poor hapless soul.

I don't have to tell you who opened the door to the glorious image of me holding all those birthday balloons. You've read enough "That Girl..." stories to already know.


I looked at Jennifer with this horrified expression on my face.

"Uh, forget you saw that," I said as I hustled down the stairs.


What do you yell when it doesn't surprise someone?




Predictably yours,