Celebrating 21

Today, Carter and I had a spa day in celebration of her 21st Birthday. You can’t take pictures at a spa since, 1. No devices are allowed since you are supposed to be taking a break from the outside world and 2. People might be naked and not want their photos taken And 3. If you are like us, you are not naked, but don’t want your photo taken in your spa robe with your hair a big mess having just had massage oil rubbed into it and now all you joints are lose and you look like one of those wooden toys held together by string that when you push up the bottom the toy figure falls down into a lump. So this spa-like window shot needs to suffice for the record that we had a lovely day.

Having an introvert daughter means alone spa time is the perfect way to recognize this milestone. So different from my extrovert 21st birthday.

My friend Laura Scherk schemed up a surprise party with my parents. Since Laura and I were in college in Carlisle, PA, where no really good parties happened, my parents thought that my party should be in NYC. Laura and a group of guys kidnapped me.

As it was a Saturday and I was a college student I was on the roof of my off campus house, in my green sweatpants washing the windows of my bedroom. I was not a normal college student. The boys jumped out my bay window and threw one of their dirty laundry bags over my head and pushed me back inside the house. How no one fell off the roof is a real miracle.

From that moment one I had no idea how many people were in the caravan of cars that drove to NYC. I was ordered to keep the blindfold on for the whole trip. We ended up in the city where I was allowed to shower and change and a surprise party was held at Trader Vic’s in the basement of the Plaza Hotel.

People drank way too much Navy Grog and no one noticed when my middle sister slipped out and got in a cab and went home to Connecticut. Eventually that fact caused the end of the party. My friends and I carried on with out my parents who must have been frantic trying to find my sister. It was a wild night. One I don’t remember a lot about, but certainly was one for the books.

I am so thankful to have a spa child and not a Trader Vic’s child. I guess I have a Trader Joe’s Child where at least none of her friends are passed out on the floor next to the table after a handful of cheese bings and three rum punches. The early eighties were fun.

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