Okay, so my wife had a birthday party this past weekend. It was a big one (with a 0 in it), and we had a pretty big party. My surprise for her was that I had arranged for us to release butterflies. The butterflies arrived in individual boxes Friday morning. Because I had to keep them cold (less than 75 degrees) and dark, I hid them in a closet directly under an AC vent.

Unfortunately, Hurricane Wlima was headed in our general direction. Releasing butterflies into a hurricane seemed a bit more murderous and less festive. So I went out Saturday morning (while J was at work) and purchased a whole bunch of butterfly bushes. I spent much of the rest of the day potting them and putting them on our screen porch.

When J came home, she thought that I’d just decorated the porch for the party.

During the party, I brought out the butterflies and we released them into the porch. I also had Gatorade so that people could hand feed the butterflies. Just put a little pink Gatorade on your finger and then hold it in front of the butterfly. The little critter will crawl right on to your finger and suck the Gatorade off.

Big success. Wife is in happy tears, guests are thrilled, kids are having a blast. Hoo-rah.

Of course, after the party we still had a screen porch full of butterflies. J called a local butterfly place and they advised us to keep them until after the hurricane. They said to release them in the morning if possible, preferably when it was clear. Hurricane Wilma came through on Monday morning, so we decided to do the release Tuesday morning.

Tuesday rolls around, but work interrupts and I have to leave early. J is understanding. She’s happy to do the butterfly release by herself with the kids.

Want to guess how cold it was Monday night? 40-something.

Mid-morning Tuesday, I get a call from J. This time she’s not crying happy tears. Over half of the butterflies died during the night and she’s really upset about it. On top of that, the kids think they’re sleeping. In fact, C is actually singing one a lullaby while J is on the phone with me.

My 3 year old son singing a lullaby to a dead butterfly that he spent the past few days hand feeding.

Unbelievable.

How’s that for a gift gone wrong?