My last memorable Friday 13th, I was at a beach party at a club with hubby. We are fools and I wanted to dress like a boy, so I talked him into switching with me, so I didn’t have to do the bikini thing. He wore a swimsuit and I wore board shorts, a tank top, and a hat. He is not the type of guy you’d expect to pull that antic, or maybe that’s what I’d like to think when I have my innocent and clueless cap on.
The beach party contained small riots with gaggles of laughing girls posing with my very pleased husband, and a few silly guys too.
We were some of the last people to leave. Thankfully not the last people because we were sent a gag gift from the god of Friday the 13th. Maybe it was one of his messengers. Point is, our tire was flat: Completely freaking deflated! And it was 2AM or something.
The last people waved as they headed to the other side of the parking lot. We waved them over and got a ride to a nearby hotel and called Onstar in the morning. The hotel shuttle took us to the parking lot. Our car was still there, the tire still flat.
It took Onstar a long time to find us a tow truck. It took even longer for us to get a cab home. We took goofy pictures in the car and annoyed each other until we found a cab company that could find us. Technically it was Saturday the 14th by then, but it all started Friday 13th.
We’re celebrating a birthday and a belated anniversary tonight. If Friday 13th has any special surprises, it’s not our turn to get them! Just kidding. Sort of.