12 hours into my birthday and all goes better than well. As per tradition, I officially began the day by dancing around to the Beatles' "Birthday." In past years, I've done nothing but listen to that song all day. There is a beautiful presence of mind to that song - filling a much needed space for annual tradition. Much like Queen's knack for knowing that sporting events through time were lacking an anthem such as "We Will Rock You" or "Another One Bites the Dust." Marketing genius.
My birthday has already reached outrageous heights at the J&M cafe, where I seemed to know everybody in the restaurant. Cari and Erin were both there with their families. And this fine fellow Andy, who used to stop by Vivace now and again was there with a friend. Writing it down only three names doesn't seem to convey the extraordinary coincidence of it all, but believe me when I say the impact was profound.
On noticing the words on my bright gold paper top hat proclaiming it was my birthday, the waitress brought out my breakfast with a candle stuck in the orange slice. Andy and his friend commenced to clap and sing me a shy round of Happy Birthday, while Russ and Etta lowered their heads in laughter and shame. I was beaming. I still am.
I fucking love my birthday.
-Thank you for reading.
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