Day 360: Ten Little Surprises

I'm organising a holiday. It is a secret. Do not tell Mr Earwig. Later this year he is turning fifty. But it wasn't me that told you okay? He doesn't want anyone to know. He doesn't want a big party; he wants to disappear for a few days and come back like it never happened. So on the actual day we are going to a wedding. That should cover that up nicely. A few days later we will do the disappearing act. He knows something is afoot. It is, I realise now, quite difficult to fly solo on organising something as momentous as this. Sure, when we do it together I usually put a very strong case forward as to why my plan is the best—and he doesn't often argue back—but I would normally get to run every other option through him before I decide which is the best in the first place. I can't do that here.

I've managed to get in a couple of 'Would you rather *scenario 1*, or *scenario 2*?' Q&A's, where scenarios include things like staying put or being above sea level or basic economics and accounting. but otherwise he has no idea.

This is what he has hoped it wouldn't be: Bali (volcano smoke cloud) or the Maldives (too close to sea level) or Mexico (too many drug cartels). Ummm, who in their right mind doesn't want to go to the Maldives? And Mexico? For: food, people, culture, language, colour, beaches, weather, sights, Mexico City. Against: a drug cartel or two. It balances 'in favour' in my mind. I can neither confirm nor deny if we are going to any of these three places.

Every few days he grabs the globe and spins, rattling off names. Ireland, Italy, Japan, Spain, the UK, Fiji, Hamilton Island, Myanmar, Tunisia. I can neither confirm nor deny if he has got that right.

He hasn't suggested Sri Lanka, Afghanistan, Poland, Turkey, Uruguay, the Turks and Caicos Islands, San Fransisco, cruising the Alaskan Inside Passage, Greenland, Zanzibar, or travelling to the North Pole on an Russian Nuclear Powered Icebreaker. I can neither confirm nor deny whether any of these would be a better guess.

Today starts the 'getting off sugar' campaign. I was contemplating doing it as a give-up-along online but the dates coincided with the trip. Sitting and discussing it on the couch I came up with this gem: 'We can't give up sugar right in the middle of our trip to Europe'. I can neither confirm deny whether that was a slip of the tongue or a red herring.

All will be revealed, I can confirm, on the 21st October. At a wedding. I hope there won't be disappointment after all this build up. *fingers crossed*

The tenth pair of shoes in my count down?, count up?, are proof positive of why Mr Earwig deserves this surprise. He bought them for me—he knows my size and favourite website. I love their mustardy tweediness. And truth be told, it's like a book you wouldn't ordinarily read and are coerced to, only to really enjoy—like The Martian by Andy Weir for example. I may not have bought them myself, but now I love that I have them. Close inspection reveals how much one of my mutters loves them too. Grrr.

The Outfit Shirt: Op-shopped (outgoing, with a tear at the front seam) Skirt: Op-shopped Belt: Op-shopped Necklace: ModCloth Shoes: Poetic Licence Whiplash

Photographer de Jour: Moi

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