Skylar of Sugarhouse, my lawfully wedded something or other, the man who vowed in front of all the spirits of the universe to never harm me in any way and to spend the rest of his existence worshipping me, is currently perpetrating psychological torture.

You know that this man has a history when it comes to birthday surprises or other gifts. Just a few months ago a bunch of British tabloids wrote articles about the time he threw me a surprise funeral for my birthday. In the articles they mention that Skylar took me surprise skydiving for my birthday another year and for Christmas once he sent me on a weeks-long scavenger hunt through my city. A podcast picked up this story and spent ten minutes talking about how "exhausting" Skylar sounds to have in one's life.

And look. You know that I'm Skylar's Number One Fan. I'm basically president of the fan club. His mother is the treasurer. We devote our lives to documenting and praising his every move. And sending pictures back and forth of Skylar as a teenager.

But y'all. The birthday surprises? I don't even know. On the one hand, I love them with every fiber of my being because they are so elaborate and thought-out and funny (in theory) and memorable and they always make me feel so loved. But on the other hand, will I die?

I don't know what is happening this year but a few weeks ago Skylar out of the blue said "I have a plan for your birthday and it's going to require you to just trust me for a few hours and believe me when I tell you I have everything under control and it's going to be ok."

This warning has been living in my nightmares every day since.

"Can you give me some kind of heads up on what I should expect?" I asked him.

"Just, trust me." He said.

A week or two later I told him I had some work thing coming up and when he heard when it was he yelled "no! You can't plan anything for like four or so days around your birthday."

"Are we traveling then?" I asked him.

"Haha. No." He responded cryptically.

"Sky, is this expensive? Are you planning something expensive."

Skylar laughed again. "Definitely not."

"So, should I plan not to work the week of my birthday? Can you at least give me some answers so I can plan accordingly?" I thought this was a totally reasonable request.

"Well, you can try to work that week. I guess." He told me.

Last night Skylar came home from the hospital and started flipping through the mail from the day. "Do you want a hint about your birthday?" he asked me.


"Think . . . cold."

When I tried to get more clarification he just yelled "I've already said too much!"

I don't know.

But I'll tell you this right now: if that man is taking me surprise camping I'ma have to learn how to use Tinder again.

~It Just Gets Stranger