Of Kings and Presidents

I used to hate surprises, but liked being surprised. An oxymoron-gone-awry? Yup!

Surprise? You arrive home with bad hair, in boyfriend jeans, grubby tee and flip-flops, only to be serenaded by thirty runway-ready eager guests...

Being surprised? The totally unexpected, but with distinctly unembarrassing possibilities... Note my caution either way; latent control-freak dreading one, but circling the other.