This piece of mini literature is all about me not crying my eyes out. Straight out of the gate I must fall to my knees and thank all my friends at the Pfister Hotel from preventing that shirt dampening tragedy from taking place.
This past Monday was my 14th wedding anniversary. It also marks the 14th anniversary of the first (and until this week, generic last) time I stayed overnight at the Pfister Hotel. That overnight was made possible by a swell gift from some Canadian friends of my wife and I on our wedding night. It really was their secret ploy to kick us out of our house so six of them could take over our home and spend the night. Those Canadians understand full well how to stretch the American dollar.
To mark this momentous occasion that also confirms that my wife and I are older than dirt (well, I’m dirt, she’s nothing but dew spotted rose pedals), my wife Paula and I gave careful consideration to our schedules and made certain that we would be separated by no fewer than 900 miles the day of our anniversary. If you’re reading that last sentence out loud, clinic it helps to infuse it with a lot of pointed irony.
I chose not to despair while my bride was off doing some work in her motherland of New Jersey despite my constant concern that she and Bruce Springsteen are finally making their own sweet music after several years of their obvious infatuation with each other. As a matter of full disclosure, that concern may actually be my own paranoia over kicking beyond my coverage in terms of my spouse because as far as Paula and I know, Bruce Springsteen has only ever met her in his dreams.
Nevertheless, I didn’t want to spend my 14th wedding anniversary soaking my pillow with crocodile tears. I chose to take action and make a plan. Given the feelings of joy I experienced as my 14th anniversary came and went, I wanted to share my simple 5 Step Solution to avoid eating macaroni and cheese out of the pot on your wedding anniversary when your spouse is out of earshot. Follow these to the letter, and you’ll avoid the embarrassment of spending the day watching the full DVD set of Murder She Wrote that you have hidden behind your old record albums because you don’t want anyone to know you have them (the author claims NO personal knowledge of that, of course…uh uh, not me, and stop staring at my Angela Lansbury t-shirt).
- Arrange to stay at the Pfister even though its 10 minutes from your house. I can’t stress this enough. STAY OVERNIGHT AT THE PFISTER. I write about the Pfister, and I spend many hours a day roaming the halls, but I had forgotten just how magical it is to spend the night. The moment you make the decision to book a room, your spousal separation tears will dry up. You will feel like you are in a magical wonderland where the shower makes you feel cleaner than you deserve to be and where plush robes hang elegantly from a hanger in your hotel room closet. Robe time is great. Really great.
- Bring a couple of friends to Mason Street Grill and eat like your steak is calorie free. Mason Street Grill means business. They challenge you with the gorgeous food that comes from the kitchen. It’s one of those good challenges, you know, something like, “I challenge you to be utterly fabulous.” I accepted the challenge and my friends and I just let our forks slide from plate to plate. We might have removed our belts, but a true gentlemen never tells.
- Wake up early and spend some quiet time in the Pfister Club Lounge. There is a reason that the Pfister Club Lounge is on the 23rd floor. It is simply because it is as close to heaven as you can get without actually being there. The Club Lounge is a quiet place offering good coffee and snacks with a killer view of the city.
In short, it is the perfect place to avoid doing some great writing. I avoided writing an entire novel from 5:30-8:30am. I could spend every waking minute there avoiding so much. It is my happy place.
- Share the experience with your 9-year-old daughter. In my case, sharing my anniversary with my 9-year-old daughter was welcome but non-negotiable. My wife was out of town, my older daughter was at camp, so it was just me and the kid who is undeniably a shorter version of me. My daughter Carmela beat me to the bed as we entered our room and found “American Ninga Warrior” on the television quicker than you could say, “Oh my goodness, this pillow is like a cloud filled with delicious butterscotch pudding.”
We are peas in a pod. Carmela, a rather formidable competitive swimmer, also taught me how to swim the breaststroke in the Pfister pool. She’s tough, let me tell you, tough.
- Reach into your briefcase to find this note.
You share your 14th wedding anniversary with a 9-year-old who is all the best parts of you and your wife and it’s possible you may shed one or two tears. I won’t over explain this one, but I will admit that this note is going into that special box of notes and cards I have tucked away.
(Please note, this post is alternately titled How to Make Your Spouse Weep When It’s Your Wedding Anniversary and She Can’t Stay at the Pfister with You and You Tell Her What a Great Time You and Your Daughter Had.)
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