I call my occasional traveling companion, Ed.
It’s my birthday this Saturday!
I don’t do birthdays.
Yes, but I do birthdays and my family, who does birthdays oh so exceptionally well, is far away…
I wouldn’t know how to proceed.
I have it all figured out. I’ll send you the specs for the day.
Do I have to give you a present?
Birthdays, to me, are about doing stuff, not getting stuff. Still, if you feel so inspired…
I wont feel inspired. This is making me way too nervous.
It’s all in the mindset. Think: fun!
A birthday. On a week-end. With beautiful spring weather. I'm thinking: an early morning latte, a walk to the farmers market. A bike ride maybe. And then – the ultimate: a Caribbean wrap at a local spa. I’ve never done that. It seems very indulgent. Something you should maybe do only on a birthday.
Evening comes, a movie – of the Meg Ryan type – then dinner.
It used to be that I would cook dinner for a bunch of people on my birthday, but this has proven to be about the worst thing that I could put forth. Some people do not like big dinners. Other people do not like people at big dinners. Still others do not like to eat. Or cook. So it becomes a one way thing, where I am perennially the cook and people are either hating the food or each other or both. My dinner cooking days are in a sleep mode.
Ed’s line: every day is a special day.
Bullshit. Most every day is a work day or a chore day and quite likely a combination of the two.
A birthday. On a week-end. With beautiful spring weather. A day for guilt free leisure. So un-American. So me.