My wife takes almost inordinate joy in bamboozling me — a joy that comes easy thanks to my trusting and unassuming nature. At least that’s how I choose to spin it.
Reaching a forty-fifth birthday…as I did yesterday…apparently does not instantly instill one with cynicism or suspicion. And those qualities don’t seem to be inherent in my makeup.
In my youth I incessantly fell for pranks. Years later I still can’t help a furtive glance when nearly anyone asks “What’s that?”, pointing behind me and planning to promptly steal the last bite of my chocolate decadence torte.
So when the wife commented that we’d have a crowd in the house for my birthday dinner I’m sure that inside she quietly sniggered at my quizzical look. I knew that it would be us and maybe only one of the three kids.
She probably let a chuckle slip as she loaded the oven with eight potatoes for a table I thought would host only four of us. After the fact it was revealed that she also repressed undue amusement when my sister called the house and wished me a happy birthday.
The laughter was loosed after I opened the front door about thirty minutes later to find my sister’s family personally delivering birthday wishes along with a card and balloons. I may not bait fish anymore, but I fell for this deception hook, line and sinker.
Guess I’ve grown a bit more relaxed in my advancing age or perhaps I now accept the idea that my naïveté can bring hours of amusement to those around me. So be it.
Those bacon-wrapped steaks still tasted great.