It’s not my birthday. Not even close. Yet last night when my friends took me out to dinner a scoop of ice cream arrived at the table with clapping and singing.
During the early part of our meal my friend Faith left the table to go take care of something that got in her eye. As it turns out, it was all a clever ruse to go tell the waiter about my 60th birthday.
So let’s examine the facts:
My actual date of birth is 2.22.68, so she’s off by a few months and several years! Also, I’m lactose belligerent, so I can’t have the ice cream.
So what possessed this lady to misconstrue the truth? She knows me. And she knows I love a good gag. One of the reasons she and Dan brought us us here was to help refocus my mind away from the turmoil and hate I’ve encountered over the past few weeks.
Sometimes all you need is a good laugh to help you…