Three, Two, One...Surprise!

I had attended a birthday party recently for a cousin-in-law, Marilu who had turned 50. She, of the gregarious, doting, larger-than-life personality, whom everyone simply adores, expected to spend it like she has always had her past birthdays—a quiet dinner at home with family and friends.
Meanwhile, Jojo, her husband, had something radically different in mind. He, of the dignified, self-effacing, reserved nature, was clandestinely cooking up something of grandiose proportions to celebrate the wife’s big 5-0. We had all received requests via text message to save the date with a promise of details to follow. He was smart enough to inform his wife that he was indeed planning a surprise party for her because given the potency of the grape-vine phenomenon in our society, she would have found out for herself very soon. But he did keep all the other details under wraps. He bore the burden of disclosing the time and venue so we all knew we had to be at the Rizal Ballroom of the Makati Shangri-la at that appointed day and time.
I expressed some concern over how the preparations might turn out because what would a man know about décor, invites, menus, and give-aways. I half-expected to receive generic birthday invitations printed with balloons and confetti in front and the what, when, and where words written on the flip-side. Horrors! Or fiesta buntings and a plastic flower-bedecked ballroom; a dinner menu of 20 different ways with beef perhaps; or even chocolate gold coin-filled goodie bags. Yikes!
But no; there was none of that. In fact, a tastefully-done, matte gold and cabernet invitation was delivered to the house with a heart-felt personal message from Jojo and their three children. That alone should have prepared me for the tour-de-force that he had labored over for Marilu’s birthday.
Several days prior to the event, he had the smarts to send her off to Baguio, supposedly for some R and R but also to whisk her away from the center of celebrations where the over-zealousness of everyone involved started to threaten the secrecy of the planning process.
And so on the evening itself, armed only with the only piece of information that Jojo was willing to share with her—that three big surprises lay in store—Marilu got in the car which took her to the Shangri-la hotel. Surprise of all surprises, the big party was going to be in her favorite hotel!
As she entered the dark, cavernous ballroom, a lone spotlight sprung to life and focused on her every move. Shrieks from the guests, birthday greeting shout-outs, tears, and applause. She probably didn’t notice how spectacular the room was, filled to the rafters with her favorite flowers—potted orchids everywhere—on tables, on the aisles, in quiet corners, and all over the stage. The plants doubled as give-aways and were distributed to the guests at the end of the evening. How clever of Jojo, I thought, decor and give-away in one!
After the initial frenzy, a collective hush descended upon the room as the pianist played the first strains of an unfamiliar song. Quiet and self-effacing Jojo sauntered in, microphone in hand, singing something he had written especially for her on that occasion. There were, as expected, more tears and more sighs especially from the ladies in the audience, who, because of the zero-romanticism in this jaded, postmodern, and postfeminist era, were clearly blindsided and overwhelmed by this man’s grand gesture in honoring his wife.
When the song ended, a cell phone rang, which then caught everybody’s attention. The gentleman host of the evening’s proceedings rushed over to the celebrant to say that her only sister, Connie, who is based in Los Angeles, wanted to greet her over the phone—predictably so, the guests all thought. They put the call on speaker phone for all to hear but the connection was full of static, the conversation between sisters, inaudible. And then, of a sudden, the sister’s voice from the other end, became clearer, stronger, and much closer, like it was coming from somewhere among the audience. And indeed, it was! There was Connie in the flesh, standing up from one of the tables, flown in from Los Angeles the night before by Jojo for her big day. She was stunned, speechless, and spinning in extreme joy and surprise.
The merriment continued. There was dancing and singing and much eating and drinking. But everyone waited with bated breath for the third surprise that Jojo had earlier announced. At the end of the evening, when the time for the big reveal came as a fitting finale, he walked over to his wife and turned her sideways to face one corner of the ballroom while several waiters slid open the accordion doors that divided the large ballroom into smaller areas. He then raised his hand in the air for all to see and showed his wife car keys to her new car, which was, as he spoke, slowly being showcased as the final partition fell out of view. It was a spanking white BMW!
At first she couldn’t comprehend what was going on—the spotlights, the screaming from the audience, keys dangling from her husband’s hand, doors opening, people shouting, “Car!” She was dumbfounded, confused even, until slowly, it sunk in, that indeed, her husband was handing her keys to a new car. “Aaaaaaahhhhh!” was her reaction—complete with a gaping mouth and glaring eyes! I truly thought she was going have a coronary. Thank heavens she came to, almost immediately, promptly falling into her husband’s arms in a heap of tears, excitement, disbelief, and profound happiness.
There was no dry eye in the ballroom that night. Well, expect the men’s, of course, who couldn’t take their eyes off of the BMW, while all the ladies were fixated on the embracing couple, married for more than 20 years and who were, at that specific moment, in the cradle of bliss and affection.
A lady guest seated right beside us in the table lovingly turned to her husband and audibly said, “Ako, kahit na Honda CRV okay na sa akin.” To which the husband replied, “Kiss na lang.”
I would like to say that it was not the big party at the Shangri-la, nor was it the sending for the wife’s sister all the way from L.A., nor was it the BMW, but of course, no one would believe me. It sure helped; in a major way!
But much more than the material things, it was truly the thought, the time, and the effort—the whole exercise of pulling off a surprise—that made the difference, considering that husbands nowadays can’t even be blackmailed into taking the wife out to dinner. Also, he could have just opted for the lazy and stress-free route by taking her to the car dealership to choose whatever car she wanted. He could have just taken her out to dinner or asked her to cook and invite family and friends. But it was the fact that he took a lot of time off from work and poured himself over all the nitty-gritty of conceptualizing the entire celebration, which showed how important she is to him, how much he thinks she deserves it, and how great his love for her is. Marilu deserved every bit of it and even more!
Gentlemen, your present to your beloved could be as grand as a month-long surprise trip to Africa or as humble as a picnic of fish balls on the grounds of Luneta, but the operative word here is “surprise.” All women are suckers for surprises, no matter how small and inconsequential to your thinking. So, surprise her, then sit and watch how much mileage it earns you. Prepare to be blown away!