My birthday started out innocently enough. These were gifts from my kiddos, purchased with their own hard-earned cash, and delivered with breakfast on a tray early Friday morning. The Man had already caught the train to D.C., so they did it all by themselves.
An arrangement of spring flowers, delivered by The Man, who took off early from work on Friday.
Big honking flatscreen LCD computer monitor delivered by FedEx man at dusk. A blogging Grrrl's dream (the monitor, not the FedEx guy).
Cards in the mail. : ) Romantic yet sassy card from The Man. : )
Saturday night. Ready for a party with my grrrlfriends. Having lived in Europe, I am a very sophisticated consumer of wine. I choose mine based on two important criteria: best name and most creative label. It must also cost more than $10 a bottle. I am VERY classy, y'all.
Every party needs at least one cake. Here's the carrot cake. I didn't get a photo of the cake Shirley made for me. Check out Shirley's site, www.glutenfreeeasily.com for the recipe she used in making the richest, darkest, most fabulous chocolate cake EVER. So good!
The Grrrls all brought the kind of cards women love to give and get.
Lisa knows me so well.
And Jan clearly is trying to enhance my reputation with this, um, X-rated FUSION liqueur.
While the conversation was lively, the most interesting part of the party involved an unexpected visitor. Around 10 p.m., the doorbell rang. We all raise our eyebrows. A late arriving guest?
I tell the Grrrls, "Oh that must be the STRIPPERS!"
I was in the middle of serving cake so Jan answered the door. I'm surprised when I hear a man's voice, "Can I come in?" and Jan saying, "This is not my house...VERONICA?!!"
Damn, did somebody really send a stripper?! I would not put that kind of prank past Lisa's husband, Mike.
I step into my foyer to see a fully outfitted cop standing next to Jan. I'm waiting for him to start dancing and unbuttoning his shirt, but instead he says "We got a call from one of your neighbors about the cars parked on the street and want to make sure there isn't a problem. Are you having a party?"
"Yes, I AM having a party. It's my birthday," I say with a loose smile. "I'd offer you a big piece of chocolate cake but I suspect you'd get in trouble for taking that, huh?"
Oh. My. Perhaps I've had too much of the Middle Sister rebel red because I do believe I just got a bit flirty with a Man of the Law.
The cop smiles, does not take me up on my charming attempt at hospitality, and then says his goodnights and leaves.
(I am secretly disappointed I wasn't carded. Doesn't he want proof I'm old enough to drink? Ha ha ha.)
The whole weird incident sparks an animated discussion with the grrrls: What the hell was that all about?
We were having a small party, no music, and there were only four cars parked on the street, which is a wide one in a quiet part of town. I live very close to the end of a cul-de-sac, so there isn't any thru traffic. In fact, there's hardly any traffic where I am, least of all late on a Saturday night.
The big mystery: Who called the cops?
Or was that all a big lie and the cop was really checking us out for another reason. Looking for a suspect maybe and trying to account for all the cars in the neighborhood that seemed out of place? Trying to bust someone for a zoning violation (i.e. too many residents in a single house)?
I have no idea.
When I told Mr. V-Grrrl about the incident later. He gave a long sigh and then said with resignation:
"You never should have called our house 'Crack House' online."
February 1, 2009