It was quite exhilarating – I have never received a note like this before!
Well, the surprise we’re-going-out-of-town part, anyway.
But the thought-out, typed-up, appropriately-bolded, planning-for-my-aggressive-curiosity-and-telling-me-not-to-ask-for-more-details part – oh yeah, that’s my husband.
Ali was quite thrilled with this development also, and kept telling me all day, “I want to stay at Grammama’s a LONG time, okay? A LONG TIME.”
“A LONG time, Mommy. Alongtime.”
I asked her where she thought Daddy was taking me, and after putting some thought into it, she said, “I think you’re going to Sweden….or Outtakes Deli. I’ve been to Sweden. It’s a pretty place. You can splash your feet in the water.”
I packed according to the detailed specifications laid out for me, with one qualifying question: Would I need a pair of sensible shoes?
After trying to understand my definition of sensible shoes and when I would or wouldn’t find sensible shoes a necessity, Chris decided that no, I did not need sensible shoes.
Thank goodness. I look horrible in sensible shoes.
We headed East. That immediately ruled out a few places I had on the possibilities list, including the Alabama A-Day game (which would have been more of a surprise date for him than me), the Tennessee Mountains, and, quite obviously, anywhere south.
I re-evaluated the options of our destination with each turn and each exit we passed. It was quite the intellectual stimulation.
Not too long into our trip I realized that we must be headed for our favorite “date” city, Atlanta. We arrived at a hotel on the same block as the location of our grandest adventure ever, the one where we lied our way to the roof of an under-construction Atlanta skyscraper – and managed to accidentally lock ourselves onto said roof.
However, since our mugshots are probably hanging in the Security Guy’s office under the heading of “threats”, I figured we wouldn’t be repeating that adventure.
We left for dinner and headed in the general direction of our favorite restaurant, Taverna Plaka. But then things started looking very unfamiliar.
And I’m pretty sure I ate the best meal of my entire life.
But that didn’t happen until after doing a bit of proposal coaching.
When we walked into the restaurant, there was a guy nervously talking to the host, who was apparently a friend. The host held out his finger to us and said, “What do you think?”
We looked at the way-too-small-for-his-manly-fingers diamond ring and gave the obligatory oohs and aahs.
He nodded toward nervous guy. “He’s about to propose. In just a few minutes. We’re planning it now.”
Nervous guy looks at me and says, “We’re here with both of our families. I’m thinking I’m going to have it in her champagne glass. What do you think?”
I immediately realized that a guy that is mere minutes away from proposing doesn’t REALLY want my opinion, he just wants my affirmation. Which is what I gave him…kind of.
“That sounds fun…as long as she doesn’t swallow it.”
Had he wanted my opinion, my answer would have been quite different.
Sure enough, as soon as we sat down, we were able to watch the champagney drama play out, which led to squealing and screaming and kissing and hugs and awkward-in-law kisses and more screaming and a bit of crying.
It was quite romantic, even, apparently, the sticky ring.
Our food was even better. They had amazing Tzatziki Sauce (almost as good as my Mom’s):
The best fish I’ve ever eaten in my life (imported from Greece – who does that??):
French Fries a la Cheese Snow:
And gorgeous lamb chops:
It’s the prettiest something pretty I’ve ever seen. My travelling just got a WHOLE lot lighter, and Chris just earned a whole safety deposit box full of brownie points.
Saturday’s agenda was still a complete surprise, other than to tell me it would only include things we’ve never done before. First stop: lunch at The Flying Biscuit, which holds the esteemed designation of being the first place I’ve ever photographed the bathroom ceiling:
Although my food was so good that I forgot to photograph it before I started devouring it,
The most fascinating thing was on Chris’ plate: Chicken Sausage and Turkey Bacon.
I thought the bacon was pretty bland, but the sausage was great! I have no idea how they make chicken taste like pork, but I’m definitely interested.
(I know, it was Chris’ food, not mine…but such a curious creation begs to be tasted!)
After lunch, we walked across midtown to the High Museum of Art (after which I was starting to question Chris’ decision that I didn’t need sensible shoes, but my feet curling up and falling off was a small price to pay for such a perfectly surprising weekend).
We soaked up some culture and history, then headed back to get Ali, who didn’t necessarily feel that she had been allowed to stay for a LONG time, but pretended to be slightly happy to see us anyway.