Welcome to The Twilight Zone.

Tonight was the hardest I have ever laughed.

I'm fairly certain that no combination of words could ever do justice to what I just experienced, but I have to try. If not to make you laugh, then to help me remember.

I'll start from the beginning.

Around 1:00 AM, Jenn and I decided on a whim to drive 45 minutes to the nearest Denny's. Sidenote: We have a tendency to drive absurd distances for food at all hours of the evening. In fact, I've referred to us as Harold and Kumar on numerous occasions. So, we set out for the Denny's near the University of Dayton's campus.

As we pulled into the parking lot, we quickly noticed two things: 1. Denny's was completely packed and 2. We were a racial minority. This, of course, didn't bother us and we stepped inside. While waiting in line for the hostess to seat us, we scanned the restaurant, taking verbal note of the vast array of customers.

Some people were dressed in provocative nightclub clothes, others were in t-shirts and jeans. Some were loudly slurring their words while others sat in silence. Some seemed to be high schoolers, others were on the opposite end of 40. There was a group of five women in front of us, most of whom had butch haircuts. One of these women wore a shirt that read: I heart vaginas. Another shirt said: I like girls who like girls. I made some comment to Jenn regarding the impressive diversity of Denny's clientele.

Jenn explained that the nearby group of high school boys laughing hysterically made her nervous. I agreed, adding that I was pretty sure they were making fun of me. Jenn, unaware of her proximity and volume level, assured me that they were laughing at the lesbians in front of us. One member of said group instantly moved away from us, clearly offended. Oops.

We stood awkwardly in line for another five minutes, hoping desperately that a hostess would separate us from the others in line. Jenn quietly sang the theme song for The Twilight Zone. Little did we know how bizarre the night would quickly become.

Luckily, a hostess noticed that a booth had opened in the corner and she escorted us past a number of staring customers and a gentleman who shared an uncanny resemblance with Rick Ross. The large table next to us was occupied by ten people with multi-colored hair, more piercings and tattoos than Dennis Rodman, and The Clash and Sex Pistols t-shirts. We tried unsuccessfully to disappear in the corner.

Our waiter, an attractive guy named Tyrone, came over to take our drink orders. Showing absolutely no signs of subtlety, he openly gawked at Jenn, not dissimilar to the way I stare at Sidney Crosby. He mumbled greetings to us that we couldn't understand and we ordered our drinks.

We discussed True Blood for ten minutes, disagreeing on the attractive merits of Bill Compton and agreeing on those of Eric Northman. During our discussion, the table next to us was vacated and cleaned by Tyrone, who, thanks to Jenn, probably could have used the ample amounts of his drool to clean any surface.

Suddenly, a large, older-looking black woman plunked down at the table next to us. She was dressed in a nice blue dress and, by the look of her eyes, was as high as a kite. As soon as she sat down, she turned to us and exclaimed, "It's my birthday! I turned 63 today!" We exchanged pleasantries, wished her a happy birthday, and smiled as she started to dance and sing, "It's my birthday! Happy Birthday!" over and over to herself.

A minute later, she was joined by a large group of younger, black women - also dressed nicely and clearly intoxicated. At this point, Tyrone brought us our fried cheese melts (my own personal Kryptonite), asked Jenn what her name was, and mumbled something about her being really pretty.

We ate our food in silence, completely entranced by the lively group of women next to us. At random intervals, the woman would sing "It's my birthday! Happy Birthday!" They laughed hysterically, although nothing of note was happening. She started to yell things to Tyrone about how he couldn't use her phone. I tried for a minute to make sense of why she was saying this to him, but ultimately, decided that it was simply because 'phone' rhymes with 'Tyrone.' Hilarity ensued and we were reaching the breaking point.

Suddenly, the woman stood up at her table. In an attempt to get the attention of the entire restaurant, she started to shout at the top of her lungs. She told everyone to be quiet. When she had almost everyone's attention, she explained that it was her birthday and it was her day. She also wished all of the fathers a Happy Father's Day, but then reminded everyone it was her birthday.

No one seemed particularly amused by this. Except for us. We giggled, I was on the verge of losing it. Jenn coaxed me down. Then, all hell broke lose. Three of the women at the table started to sing a very different version of the "Happy Birthday" song than what I've ever heard. A very soulful, black Baptist-like version of the Birthday song.

Slowly but surely, the entire restaurant (which I must remind you probably had a sum total of 10 white people inside) started to join in. I have never heard this song before in my life. People were clapping, swaying back and forth, and singing along. A large, bald black man stood up and started to dance down the aisle toward the birthday girl.

I lost it. I started to laugh so hard that my entire face contorted. Despite my strongest efforts to avoid it, tears began to stream down my cheeks. Amazingly, Jenn held it together for the most part. She urged me to turn around and watch the man dancing toward us. I couldn't for fear of peeing my pants.

He sat next to me in the booth and I turned my head, pretending to look out the window. One of the women at the table exclaimed, "YOU'RE MAKING THAT GIRL CRY OVER THERE!" I sent Jenn a text that read: Is this a Tyler Perry movie?

At this point, Jenn couldn't contain herself. She laughed harder than I've heard her laugh in years. We both cried, laughing hysterically, while an R&B rendition of "Happy Birthday" was performed all around us. Eventually, we pulled ourselves together, grabbed our bill, and high-tailed it out of there.

We left, shell-shocked and in utter disbelief.

Like I said, I could never accurately describe this situation to anyone. It was the single most bizarre and hilarious thing I've ever seen in my life. I tried to take a video with my phone, but Jenn told me that I was being obvious and I decided against it. I wish more than anything that I could have recorded it.

I would have sent it to Tyler Perry with the working title, How Madea got her 63rd Birthday Back.