Last weekend, I celebrated yet another birthday. On Saturday, I turned WTF years old.
It would be nice if people reached a certain age and birthdays just stopped happening, but unfortunately that’s not how the process works. You get a new one every year whether you want it or not.
I started my special day by waking up before anyone else in the house had started moving. Ordinarily in these circumstances, I would immediately begin making as much noise as possible to wake up the kids. They have an annoying habit of sleeping in until noon if left alone and I get a great deal of pleasure out of making their lives miserable. This day was different, however. I figured a quiet house was just what I needed.
Breakfast was a birthday bowl of cold cereal. A birthday bowl of cereal is like a normal bowl of cereal except there are usually a few more tears in it. I debated putting a candle in the bowl to make it more festive, but I’m pretty sure a candle won’t light after it has been submerged in milk. To add to the air of desperation, I had to eat my breakfast with an oversized serving spoon because no one had bothered to do any dishes that week. That’s okay, though. I managed just fine since I have a big mouth. I know I have a big mouth because people have been telling me that my entire life.
Things did pick up in the afternoon. As a gift to me, my family took me to a movie and a restaurant for dinner. I got to choose the movie, and I got to pick my favorite restaurant. As an added bonus, I also got to pay for everything.
Happy birthday to me!
While we were at the theater, I bought some popcorn. I always have popcorn when I see a movie. It’s just my thing. Usually when my wife and I get popcorn we argue over whether or not to put butter on it. I prefer it dry, since I don’t like the plasticky burnt taste of the fake butter. I also hate how greasy it makes my fingers. My wife loves the stuff for some unknowable reason and insists that it be used to ruin an otherwise perfectly good tub of popcorn.
We usually argue in line for a few minutes and when we get to the front counter, she tells the kid working the snack bar to add the butter. This was my birthday, though. So, on this day when we got to the kid behind the counter … she told him to add butter.
Then I paid for the snacks.
Happy birthday to me!
I enjoyed the movie, and dinner afterwards was pleasant. I swore the kids to secrecy about my birthday. I didn’t want them telling the waiter just so they could watch dad squirm in his chair as the restaurant staff sang an offkey version of a birthday song while holding a melting blob of ice cream with a candle in it. I enjoy a free dessert as much as the next guy, but I don’t care to be the center of attention in a circus like that.
So, while we were eating, I told the waiter that it was EM2’s birthday.
After dinner, we headed home for a quiet evening. A little late-night television, a glass of wine, and two kids laughing and arguing while they watched videos on their phones.
And there was cake.
Lest anyone think we forgot the most important part of any birthday celebration, my wife baked me a lovely, homemade, chocolate birthday cake. She even managed to find a pink box to put it in and a sticker with a barcode to put on the side of the box. She always goes the extra mile because she loves me so much.
My wife covered every square inch of the cake’s surface with candles, then applied a blowtorch to it for three minutes to get them all lit. Okay, that part’s a lie. It’s just my attempt at an old age joke. The reality, though simpler, was actually much more depressing.
My wife rummaged in the junk drawer, located a single candle at the bottom of the clutter, and stuck it in the cake. The family sang Happy Birthday to me, hurrying to get through it before they completely lost interest in what they were doing. Somehow my daughters managed to get through the song without ever once looking up from their cellphones. Maybe they just forgot the words and had to read them on their screens.
After fourteen or fifteen attempts, along with a five-minute rest break when I got dizzy and started to hyperventilate, I blew out the candle. (Yup. Another old age joke.)
The kids both grabbed a piece of cake and disappeared upstairs to watch a Korean soap opera. My wife took two bites of her cake, set it on the counter and started answering work e-mails on her cellphone. I got to work cleaning up the mess in the kitchen.
Ah, yes. I can’t wait to do it all again next year.
Happy birthday to me!
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