So, you received an invitation in the mail. You opened it up and a very small frog leaped from the envelope, hippity-hopped up the length of your arm, perched on your shoulder, adjusted his monocle, cleared his throat, and delivered the following:
“Mssrs. Hiawatha Green and Adam Strongbow cordially request your presence at the 567th annual Best Day Ever party, to be held on the 28th of September in this 2011th year of Our Lord. Guests will be collected at their homes and transported via private hot air balloon service to a certain patch of soft, springy grass, across which we have placed a colossal sleeping tiger, upon whose warm and tawny tummy our guests will perch to save their garments from becoming damp with pearls of dew. As our guests admire the verdant view of the sun rising over the fertile valley stretching away beneath them, a picnic breakfast will be served upon this tummy, consisting of scrambled eggs with goat cheese, thick slabs of chewy bacon and thin strips of crispy bacon, vast bowls of multicolored tomatoes glittering with brights sprigs of cilantro and speckled with course black pepper, sliced strawberry and grape salad, rye toast with too much butter, broiled trout with lemon and curry, mountains of latkes topped with fried onions and applesauce, cold fried chicken, mimosas, bloody marys, and deep mugs of espresso topped with unsweetened whipped cream.
After breakfast has been consumed, our guests will take a short nap while the dishes magically clean themselves. They will awake feeling refreshed and not too full, at which time the footrace will commence. The guests will run barefoot through the velvety grass leading into the lush valley, and as they do they will find that they are fleet as foxes. They will run faster than a rollercoaster coasts, their feet will barely touch the earth, and rather than run out of breath they will become as the air itself. They will run midway across the surface of the crystalline lake before they slow and sink into the cool, clear, baptismal waters, whereupon for their convenience they will be temporarily transformed into water babies. As they frolic onto the opposite shore, they will regain their previous forms as they begin their tumbling, sinuously graceful ascent of the great Mystical Mountain range, but their bodies will be imbued with the wild strength of a chimpanzee, the endurance of a camel, and the leaping capabilities of the Amazing Spider-Man. Over boulders they will scramble, over gorges they will bound, up the long and rough trunks of great redwood trees they will climb, hand over hand, until reaching the thin, sparsely needled topmost branches of the very tallest and most majestic tree, they cast themselves off one by one into the open embrace of the wide, wild air and plunge in spread-eagle free fall for many delicious miles until they land with a bounce onto the long arm of a rainbow and slide down a fountain of flickering, luminescent color to land in a laughing pile on the beach at the rainbow’s end. As the sun sets, the guests will build a bonfire and lean on one another in exhausted contentment as they cook meats on sticks, swill beer, sing songs, and kiss. Guests are invited to take a chilly moonlit dip in the ocean’s salty waters before cuddling against each other under one big blanket next to the glowing embers of the fire and drifting off into a shallow but epically peaceful sleep. You will wake the next day in your own bed feeling well-rested and unutterably happy.
Will Madam attend?”
“Why yes,” you tell the little frog, “Madam would be delighted.”
But whatever will Madam wear?
There is a dress for every occasion.