Surprise me? I would rather have fries, thanks.

I hate surprises.

Scratch that. I hate surprises that aren’t surprises. I hate knowing something is coming my way, but not knowing what exactly – good or bad. I also strongly believe that if you aren’t a good enough secret keeper to completely blind-sight your best friend on their birthday, you have no business throwing them a party at all.

“Oh, nevermind. I was going to ask you something but I want to save it until next time I see you.” That is approximately 12.6 hours from now. I will obsess until then on what it could possibly be that is so earth-shatteringly important it needed to be spoken about in person – you know, in case the Russians are listening. I am not pleased with this heads-up, nor do I want one in the future. Similar to the way I would like to be kept in the dark when “people talk trash about me.” (If confused, view previous entry.)

UPDATE (3/5/11): You may only postpone an important question for later if you are wearing this shirt. Courtesy of Courtney Hoffman.

Even worse than a warning about what is sure to be an unpleasant future conversation is when someone says, “I’m so excited, I got you the best present ever!” Listen, I’m sure you’re excited about stepping up and being a decent friend once in a while, and you may have even gotten me a good Christmas present (albeit a few weeks late), but the thing is, you are setting yourself up for failure. What if it isn’t “the best present ever”? What then?

This is what: I stand there awkwardly with my mediocre gift, wishing you had instead jumped on my back like a spider monkey (or “squirrel monkey” according to Snooki), and thrust your poorly wrapped, nondenominational gift in my face while ordering me to unwrap it with the command and zest of a drill sergeant. All when I least expected you - much less, you bearing gifts. If that were the case, I would have been so shocked to receive a present at all that I would have been thrilled to open even a bag of trail mix. I would be taken aback by your anticipation of my eventual hunger and you would be thanked profusely for your thoughtfulness.

So the moral of the story is, if you are going to surprise me, don’t ruin it. And not only should you not ruin it by revealing your master plan to the receiver before its due time, but letting the receiver know anything is coming their way at all will only let their anticipation build to either intolerable anxiety (i.e. “that question”) or to an insurmountable level of expectation (i.e. “that present).

P.S. Also a bad form of surprise: online shopping. I have waited exactly 6 days for my $40 tank top from Urban Outfitters to arrive on my doorstep. (You would think a $10 shipping charge would get it there eventually.) This is why I never buy anything online. However, shopping was the best way I could see to spend my Tuesday at school last week, and I was excited at the prospect of a new shirt to wear out that weekend. Well folks, that weekend came and went, and still no sign of my tank top. And when it finally does arrive, it probably won’t fit. To be honest, I don’t even want it anymore. I told myself “the best gift ever” was on its way, and thereby successfully ruined any want of tank top I originally possessed with the anger of having to wait. (Note to self: you are not patient).