I've never understood this whole "dinner on the beach" business. Why do you want (a) sand in your food, (b) wind turning your hair into a Bride of Frankenstein fro, (c) having to scream over the sound of crashing waves and wind to have a conversation, and (d) sand up your butt?
Have I mentioned that I'm not fond of the beach generally? Or Valentine's Day? (High five, Petko. Concert and beer. Word).
But side-ponytailed Bepa asking for a surprise? I just heard a lot of men and women squee their pants.