Tiny Bubbles

I’m 45 today. I know! I don’t look a day over 48.

I love birthdays. Not the aging process so much – the creaks and spots and bits that don’t seem to have the purity or ease or suppleness they once did. But I do love that today is the day that it’s September 5th, and it will be all day, and all day it’s about me me me.

My Mom and Dad always made a big deal out of birthdays when we were kids.

See? I got this, um, doll? When I was three or so.

And, here's Mistah Schleckah, around the same age, living in his own parallel universe.

Mom and Dad blew these photos up to poster size for the party the night before our wedding. Cute, I know. No, not the knee socks. Those are not cute. Those are geeky.

My friend Jennie’s birthday was last month, and she and her man stopped by in the early evening to collect her loot and have a drink with us. We drank a bottle of Champagne – which J.Bro herself had given us for a housewarming bottle – then drank another, this one from The Mumsie. Jennie and Paul left for dinner and Mistah and I continued right on getting pitsnoggled – it was the least we could do for our friend The Birthday Girl. We’d run out of bubbly, though, so had to drink wine. Out of our Champagne flutes, natch.

So I’ve determined that on my birthday, I’m going to drink Champagne all day -- while I’m doing all my favorite things -- and never run out.

I’m going to go for a walk in the morning.

I always pass the Buddah on my walks, and I always wave. He's very calming. And very a-dor-able.
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Then I’m going to go to the Tavern and serve pints and burgers to all the peeps. We don't serve Champagne . . .

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. . . so I’m going to meet my girl Nancy and her man Jonny at Ocean Beach. And drink Champagne.
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My sister Mary Beth and her man Mark are going to meet us at Ocean Beach, too. And drink Champagne.

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Then we'll go back downtown to see some more peeps. And drink more Champagne.

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My man Mistah Schleckah will chauffer me around town, looking for my peeps.

Jennie? Oh, I think so.

Peter and Martha? Could be, if we catch them pre-dogbite.

Who knows, really? Sisters and Sistahs and friends and pals and peeps and Champagne . . .

All my favorite things.

Cheers.