It was my wife's 40th birthday. I'd rented a big, white, stretch limo so she and a bunch of our friends could just cruise around town having fun. We drove to the playground on the banks of the Ohio river. That was fun. We went to a fine establishment called Mick's Lounge and offered limo rides around the block to the drunks at the bar, kind of like drunk pony rides. They thought we were kidding. Until they saw the limo out front. That was fun too. Then we hatched the Grand Scheme of the evening:
... one of our friends couldn't be with us because he was with his girlfriend at her 10th High School Reunion. You know the old saying, "Never leave a man behind." So we limo'd to the formal affair, which was held at a local country club, and we, uh ... crashed the reunion. Imagine, if you will, any Chuck Norris movie in which he and a few men are dropped into enemy territory by chopper to free the prisoners of war and you've pretty much got the scenario, only make the chopper a limo ... we just barged into the dance, in blue jeans and t-shirts, found our friends and sort of ... uh ... freed them. Actually, they were bored and jumped at the chance to go cruisin'. But the preppy organizers were REALLY pissed. They tried to stop us on the way in, but we just kept going. Enghhh, screw 'em. We don't need no steenking badges. Or formal wear.
Believe it or not, my wife TOPPED that birthday present when I turned 40. But that's another story for another time. And it involves another kidnapping. Me.
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