Imaginary Husband asked last night if I knew what I planned to get him for his birthday. Of course not, his birthday is in September. But, like the parent of any 8-year-old boy knows, I knew this meant that he just discovered something on the internet that is really expensive but he just must have.
Yep. Tickets to a Woodstock-esque music festival. Five straight days of camping in a field with 24-hour live music performances on three different stages. If there are individualized heavens, this is what Imaginary Husband’s would look like. Plus power tools.
I’m not a prissy girly girl. I can hack it in the great outdoors. I have been camping before, but this is 5½ days and 5 nights in a field in still-summer-hot early September. So I asked whether there would be adequate shower facilities. “That’s the beauty of it,” he replies, “the campsite is right next to a water park!” Time out. The plan is to bathe on water slides with thousands of other filthy stoned campers? Or are you suggesting that this magical water park has more than a single disgusting shower in a bathroom that is only there for optics and—maybe—the occasional #2? I am Italian. If I go more than 2 days without shaving it becomes a safety issue. I need a real bathroom.
But it is his birthday, so we are doing it. I expect to receive massive doses of DEET, PABA, and chlorine, which I’m pretty sure combines to form mustard gas. In exchange, I get to host more elaborate and obnoxious poker nights than ever before!
But not tonight, actually, poker will be hosted by everyone’s favorite Columbia Heights hipster clerk power-pair, Neal (Friedman ’09) and Jen (Rader ’11). They live at [——-] and, weather permitting, will be dealing cards outside on their extravagant rooftop deck. And the fact that both camping and decks are outdoors means that this is a coherent theme for a poker email. Ta DAA! Their house is right next to [—–], so you can plan your happy hour accordingly. You can still RSVP to me, as long as you RSVP to somebody, so I know how much liquor to bring.