I was flying to a conference in D.C. when the woman next to me made a Wi-Fi call. “Hi Ellen. It’s Cynthia. So, did you already send your husband off?”
Here’s the thing—my wife’s name is Ellen. And yes, she packed my bags.
I couldn’t hear the reply—Cynthia had headphones in—but then she said, “He won’t be back until the day after tomorrow, you’ve got plenty of time. Don’t panic. You’ve got this! HE’LL BE IN PIECES!” Then she hung up.
I tried making small talk, hoping to get some context, but she wasn’t interested. The whole thing freaked me out so much that I flew back a day early.
And when I walked into the house… I was SPEECHLESS. because my wife….
…was sitting in the middle of the living room floor, surrounded by thousands of tiny cardboard pieces.
She screamed, “NO! You’re early! You’re supposed to be in D.C.!”
I looked around for a weapon or a lover. Instead, I saw a half-finished, life-sized image of… my own face.
“What is this?” I stammered.
“It’s your birthday surprise!” she cried. “Cynthia and I ordered a custom 5,000-piece puzzle of your favorite portrait. She was coaching me on how to finish it before you got home!”
“She said I’d be in pieces!” I yelled.
“Yes! The PUZZLE you! You were currently in pieces on the floor, and I had to put you together!”
I sank to the floor, realizing I had cancelled my presentation and spent $400 on a last-minute flight because of a jigsaw puzzle.
On the bright side, at least she wasn’t planning a murder. But she is going to kill me for walking on the sky-pieces with my shoes on.
