My relationship with Old Man Crawley is this long, involved story. All you really need to know is that (a) he’s filthy rich from a life of scrooge-like living; (b) he and my dad are business partners in a restaurant called Paris, Capische; (c) Old Man Crawley hates me less than he hates most everyone else, which I guess makes me the closest thing he has to a friend.

So I leave his place with the invitation, and as I’m walking down the street, I open it. Crawley musta known I’d do that, because inside is a second envelope that reads Open this one, Anthony, and there will be severe consequences.

Fine. I brought the thing home and put it in my mother’s hands. She looked at it like it might be a bad report card or a telegram telling her that someone’s dead like they did back in the days when death notices came by telegram and not by e-mail.

“It’s from Crawley,” I told her. “Just open it, say yes, and let me get on with my life.”

She opened the envelope, pulled out a fancy-looking card, then looked at me like she was gonna kill the messenger.

“Is this some sort of joke?”

“Why? What’s it say?”

“See for yourself.” She handed it to me and I looked it over.

The “honor” of your family’s presence

is requested on Saturday, the 29th of June,

on board the Plethora of the Deep

for seven days

to celebrate the 80th birthday

of Mr. Charles Jameson Crawley.

A suitable gift is expected.

Okay, so my experience with cruises is limited to the Circle Line. That’s the boat that goes around Manhattan while some underpaid high school dropout points out all the tall buildings as if you can’t see them for yourself, and if you’re lucky, you ram into a careless speedboat, adding some actual excitement to the tour. But this invitation was for the real thing. And not just any cruise ship—this was the Plethora of the Deep, the largest, most luxurious ship in the known universe.

I saw this whole thing about it on TV, and how Caribbean Viking cruise line had to build new docks in every port just to fit the Plethora. It’s got a Junior NASCAR go-cart speedway, the infamous Cavalcade of Waterslides, an underwater lounge with glass walls so you can watch the propellers make sushi out of any passing mermaids, and a world-class roller coaster. Just the thought of it makes me drool like a knuckle-dragger from the Jersey Shore.

And my mom says, “Forget it. I don’t do boats.”