Last night was one for the ages — age 22, to be precise. 

Yesterday was my friend Lily’s birthday and she planned a celebration to bring together friends from college and those of us who’ve known her a little longer. (I’m going to use this opportunity to boast that there’s written report card documentation that “Laura and Lily played together very nice” in preschool.)

Our game plan for the evening was to carpool up to a restaurant in the suburbs with awesome food and an even more impressive outdoor bar, wear the clothes and heels that are too cute for Cannon, have a lovely time, and see if five eligible bachelors just happened to want to chat it up a bit.

Well, as I actually said aloud late into the evening, it was quite possibly the best-planned and most poorly executed birthday ever.

To start off the night, Kaitlin, Lily, and I piled into my car and were just about to leave town when Lily mentioned that her parents were concerned about the weather. At this point, I had no idea that the weather was supposed to turn bad. The sky was still blue, and I told the girls that my parents were both out of town for the evening and that we shouldn’t let a little thunderstorm ruin our plans. On top of that, I would’ve had a severely bruised ego if my parents were out carousing and I was sitting home afraid of a few raindrops.

We started up toward the restaurant and a few miles from town saw an enormous wall cloud — also known as a giant ominous black blob in the sky — and started to have doubts. The weather certainly didn’t look good, but I thought it was just going to be a little rain. I was also a little cocky thinking to myself that I’d survived rush hour traffic in Los Angeles and I’d driven the country end to end. How bad could it possibly be?

The answer was pretty darn bad.

We got half way to the restaurant when the weather turned from a dreary evening to a typhoon. When I could no longer see the road, I pulled off the highway and under an overpass where my car was still being pelted with rain because it was so windy the sheets were coming down and then swirling horizontally like the power rinse cycle at a car wash. I’m known to exaggerate for the sake of humor on this blog, but I am not embellishing this story at all.

Kaitlin had sister-turned-meteorologist Megan on the phone for advice about which way the storm was moving and if we could expect to be actors in a re-make of Twister. We learned that it was only going to get worse if we kept driving up to the metro area and decided to turn for home. On the drive back I called my dad when we pulled under overpass #2 to see what the weather was like at home. “Uhh, the wind’s starting to pick up a little bit I guess,” he said nonchalantly. “IT’S NOT RAINING?” I demanded.

As it turns out, my hometown stayed in a little pocket of awesomeness as the rest of the state was obliterated with storms. When I was on the phone with my dad I mentioned that we were coming back to our house to wait out the storm and suggested that he make us a pitcher of margaritas to try to salvage something about the evening. He took my plea to heart and had the blender on the counter by the time we pulled into the garage. Hooray!

After sipping and chatting for a bit my dad pulled up the radar on his trusty Ag Partners website (who really needs weather.com when you can see the storm and grain prices simultaneously) and concluded that the cell had passed over us.

We were off again: this time going straight west to Northfield where we were certain the weather had cleared up. We had a simple meal and a few drinks at Applebee’s and saw tons of high school or first year college students come to the restaurant for half-price appetizers. We felt a little funny each time a group of guys had a lingering glance in our direction. Must they be so young? Must we be so old?

As we were leaving, an especially rambunctious group of Raiders catcalled us in the parking lot.

“Oh great,” I said. “We just got hit on by pre-pubescents.”

“In a minivan no less!” Kaitlin added with a laugh as we jumped into her car and started a lazy drive back to Cannon Falls.

While we were cruising home, we heard Standing Outside the Fire by Garth Brooks on the radio. I have a soft spot in my heart for the man with friends in low places. My mom had his tapes while I was growing up. I would dance/tumble/flail to his music in our living room around the age that I was playing with Lily at preschool. As much as I like the song we heard, I think When the Thunder Rolls would have been more appropriate.

When I walked in my door at the end of the evening I was surprised to see that my parents were still awake. I heard about my mom’s “Girls Night Out” adventure with her friends in Red Wing and learned that they just ignored the tornado sirens as when they went off. I saw a goofy photo she took with a “Handsome Hunk” who was giving away prizes as part of the event.

My dad also recalled his evening for my mom. “I’ve been entertaining girls all night,” he pronounced with a smirk. “You only had one hunk. I had an entire room full of girls.”

“Young pretty ones at that,” my mom said with a laugh.

I agree. We are young ones and as far as I’m concerned, Lily is still 21 because yesterday calls for a birthday re-do.

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• birthday
• friends
• storms
• family
• restaurant