The last time we bought clothes was a year ago in Florida. We'd grown out of most everything else that we had, so we bought some more pants and shirts. What we didn't buy were formal clothes. I mean, come on! When is my dad going to wear a coat and tie while he's fixing the head? Well, that one fateful day, we all realized our horrible mistake, that we weren't prepared at all for Sally's birthday.

Sally was having her party at a fancy restaurant. Now when I think of fancy, I think white tablecloths, flowers on the table, elevator music, and at least five cheese forks. I almost fainted. It all hit me: I have no experience in fine dining. Nada. Zilch. The fanciest place I'd been to was Le Kliff in Mexico. It was sort of like a semi-casual cuisine. The truth is, I had no idea what to expect, so lazy horrors floated through my brain. What if they don't let us in because we aren't fancy enough? What if they have a guy at the door that checks you breathe before he lets you in (or kicks you out)? What if the guy at the door takes one look at our flip-flops and my dad's torn up tennis shoes and rue the day that he came to work there?

My mom said that they wouldn't let anyone that wasn't wearing a collared shirt or dress into the restaurant. This was where the mad panic began. We all looted through our closets, searching for something that wasn't thinning or didn't have a huge hole in it. I was the most successful out of the four of us when I found a red and white floral dress that I hadn't worn since my second-cousins wedding. My mom found a casual skirt, Casey was wearing a black skirt, and my dad wore some jeans and, yes, a collared shirt. All of our formal clothes had been neglected and stuffed in our closets so long that they were incredibly wrinkled and had slightly noticeable fold marks on them.
We loaded into the dinghy, feeling a little self-conscious. But as we drove to the dock, I smiled. I don't know why, but sometimes when I'm in a pickle I have to step back and laugh at things like this. When everyone noticed me smiling I shrugged. I don't think I could have explained it to them. There's something about a dilemma that you can't do anything about that is funny. Good thing I have the 'I'll remember this in twenty years' attitude or I'd be in trouble.
After we tied up the dinghy and walked down the dock to the restaurant I used one of Dad's famous lines on him: "it's all about the story." I patted him on the shoulder. He gave me an annoyed look. I ignored it. It was kind of fun to use his irritating lines against him. I made a mental note to remember that for future reference.
The restaurant was a mix between fancy and nightclub. It wasn't at all what I expected. There was only one fork on the table. I was so confused and felt more like a rookie than ever before. Where were the breath-checkers? And the buff body guards at the doorway?
George greeted us with a handshake and talked for a while ("we shake hands in England," he said, "we're very polite.") With genuine concern for us (being the smallest boat at the party; we were dining with the three biggest yachts in Tahiti) he decided to give us some tips.
He told us, "Your playing with the big boys now and I don't want you guys to embarrass yourselves being the smallest boat here. If someone asks you how big your boat is just say, "oh, we're a forty-two." These yacht owners work in meters, so they'll think you have a huge boat. Wow, I thought, that's kind of devious. I wondered if George just thought that up or if he spent his nights lying awake thinking up ways to mislead yacht owners.
The live music was blaring and it felt like hammers pounding against my head ("but teenagers are supposed to like loud music!" My dad cried. I countered, "Not when I'm actually trying to talk!") This seemed like a place were people came to dance. It was. I saw tons of people dancing. The restaurant was outside and it looked like it was divided in sections. There was a little roof over the classy tables, which were lit by softy-lit hanging lights. Outside the roof was the dance-club part. Bright green, and black lights hung and live music pumped forcefully through the air. So those people that didn't actually come to dance sat inside at the classy tables and those that came to dance had to dance out side. It was sort of like the smoking laws in the states.
We all soon took our seats and started talking. All of a sudden the music died down and "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you?" started. Sally put her hands over her heart and looked touched when she saw two waitresses carrying a beautiful cake toward her. A few "awws" escaped the mouths of some people at other tables. Something was wrong though. Jeremy, Sally's husband, had an 'I didn't buy that' look on his face. Sure enough, the cake was taken to the table next to us and another person blew out the candles. Sally looked around, confused. Everyone was silent.
Jeremy, in a slight panic yelled, "George! I thought you were going to get a cake for Sally!" George whirled around with his hands up in surrender, like Jeremy was planning to shoot him,
"Don't look at me! You've got two sons here!" Oliver and Charlie, Sally's sons, shared the same guilty expressions. We all laughed. What else could we do?
After we got our menus, my mom and I decided to split a salad and then some breaded Mahi Mahi for dinner. It was excellent. My dad split the prime rib with Casey. It was huge! My Dad said that he really liked it, but I could tell he left his heart in McDonalds, which was a ten-minute walk away.
In the end we had a lot of fun. It was far from what I expected, but I still enjoyed it. The worst thing that happened that night was that Casey broke the bottom off of a water glass (it was just like a wine glass). She told me that she was used to the plastic ones that we had back at the boat. We came back to the boat at one in the morning, our throats sore from yelling so loud over the music. I was mostly relieved that there weren't five cheese forks, flip-flop-hating body guards, or people that checked your breath at the door.