Is that singing I hear?

Unlike Pinocchio, I don’t need my nose to grow longer when I’m lying.

There is no disputing the fact that I have a horrible poker face.

That’s not to say that from time to time I can’t pull the leg of someone. But most of the time my bluff is only puff.

Case in point, last week was my husband’s birthday. We went out to supper at Boston Pizza: me, him, my two boys and my oldest son’s girlfriend. My husband was adamant that we were not to tell the staff that it was his birthday. He didn’t want to be sung to.

“But you’ll get a free dessert,” I told him.

“I’d rather pay for it myself,” he said.

We all agreed at the table that mum was the word. But then midway through supper he got up and went to the bathroom, and well, when opportunity knocks…

A member of our entourage suggested now would be a good time to flag our waitress over and spill the beans about the birthday boy.

We did, but asked if he could get the dessert without the singing. We were told it was kind of a package deal so we took a vote and pretty quickly decided there would be singing.

We all also agreed we’d act completely surprised when the singing occurred.

“How on earth did they know?” one of us would exclaim.

That was the plan and we were sticking to it.

My husband came back to the table and we all carried on eating our meal.

About 20 minutes later I hear the staff gathering in the kitchen. I hear someone mention the word ‘birthday.’ Here it comes, I think to myself. Just act normal. The staff starts doing the clapping thing they do when someone has a birthday, but they don’t immediately come out of the kitchen.

At our table my husband says, “That better not be for me.”

We were all like, nah…of course not. The clapping continues. “I mean it, it better not be for me,” he says.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not the only one here who has a birthday here tonight,” I say.

More clapping kitchen.

“How long are they going to clap?” my son’s girlfriend asks.

And that’s when the plan fell off the rails.

My body is now convulsing as I’m trying not to laugh out loud. My eyes are tearing up. The staff starts to walk out, free dessert in hand. I’m laughing so hard that I’m wheezing and my face is getting flushed. I look at the others at the table and they’re laughing too, albeit, they’re doing a much better job at hiding it than I am. I can barely spit out the words to my husband as I’m pointing to from the another table, “I think someone over there has a birthday.”

Finally the staff surrounds us and the singing kicks into high gear.

There’s no denying it now. The gig is up. Surprise? After they leave he asks when we told them. We offer some free advice to go with the free dessert: If you don’t want to be sung to, you shouldn’t get up from the table on your birthday.

As we leave to head home my youngest son is walking next to me in the parking lot.

“No offence mom,” he says, “but you really blew that. It was pretty obvious they were coming to our table. You didn’t keep it a secret at all.”

Why was he complaining, wondered?

He got to eat his dad’s free dessert. I