To everyone who cannot celebrate my birthday with me, don't panic. I am in the very best of hands.
I was just treated to the most memorable birthday by a very thoughtful, loving man (I am referring to Christopher, of course). The adventure was so good that I am extraordinarily hung-over and not upset about having to vomit out of a moving car this morning. If anything, the hangover is a testament to my unforgettable 22nd birthday celebration.
The night, nay, the week began with secret plans and covert appointments. Knowing my birthday is just around the corner, I pretended to ignore his antics in hopes that I would not be completely embarrassed on my day, as was the case last year when I nearly threw-up from embarrassment (vomiting is a common occurrence, please don’t be alarmed that it has already been mentioned twice in this story).
Finding that I initially had dinner plans with a friend, Chris was forced to spill a bit of his secret by mentioning that 1) plans with my friend, Lindsey, had to be cancelled and 2) I needed to pack something nice to wear, but with shoes equipped for walking, items able to get wet (I believe his phrasing was “pack a scuba suit,” which is a rough translation of “bring a swim suit”) and nothing for an overnight excursion.
Reluctantly relinquishing control, I packed my items and got into the car only to be blindfolded and immediately disoriented, especially when I heard the sound of the trunk slamming even though Chris was sitting next to me, starting the car.
“Did I just hear the trunk?” My only hope was that he did not think the trunk was a smart way to secretly smuggle our cat, Tosh.
Blindfolded, I was driven in circles in what Chris thought was a method for covering-up our direction. Little did he know, I stopped paying attention to our direction as soon as we left the driveway.
After about 45 minutes, my mask was removed to reveal a blinding display of twinkle lights against a twilight sky. Needless to say, my eyes swelled with excitement and tears to remove the eyelashes that had become embedded in my eyeballs. We had arrived at the historic Stanley Hotel in Estes Park.
After checking-in (the trunk was full of our overnight gear) and getting the run-down on the paranormal activity of the property (yes, we had a disturbing experience), Chris whisked me to a room of champagne (Thanks Mom and Dad) and strawberries. We swilled some bubbly, toasting my birthday and Chris’ ability to actually keep a secret and then descended to the dining room, only to make jokes about Room 217 (“Redrum”) and the bar (“We’ve landed on the Moon!”).
We enjoyed a delectable Egyptian-inspired appetizer called Ducca (Sea salt, sesame seeds, cumin, cashews with garlic bread and rosemary olive oil), sustainable white wine and seared salmon (pinch me, please). For dessert, more wine with a side of heartfelt conversation. A notable of our evening was that Chris respected my request to avoid embarrassment from singing “Happy Birthday” in favor of making me get teary-eyed from being overwhelmed with happiness.
Did I mention that the Stanley replays “The Shining” on it opening channel?
For those who have not yet experienced a similar profound gesture of love and thoughtfulness, please take a moment to revel in my happiness and feel free to adopt the story as your own (as I have done with the story of my aunt Juli lodging a gerkin in her nose). For those who have been fortunate enough to be selflessly loved, be sure to reflect on those memorable moments, they really make you feel invincible.
