MEMOIR | BIRTHDAYS
Birthday Vex — Birthday Sex
OK, tomorrow I’ll be 67. At best, I have 30 years left — perhaps 13 to 15 good years. But we never know, do we
As the sun sets on the eve of my 67th birthday, a whirlpool of emotions envelops me. Surprisingly, it’s not nearly as bad as when I turned 40. I was depressed for weeks. I wish I was that age again to be worried about being old. Hmm, the irony.
With each passing year, the enthusiasm that once bubbled within me at the mention of my birthday seems a bit calmer. It’s funny how the gleam of another year added to life’s tally gradually shifts to a vexed grumble.
But then again, it is better to be birthday vexed than never have another birthday. Am I right? Well, absolutely!
I wonder what my next trip around the sun will bring.
Now, tradition mandates a wild celebration — and by wild, I mean trying not to fall asleep during the movie.
I told my wife I wanted to see “The Creator” for my birthday, and she said, “Oh hell no — you’re not going anywhere for at least 20 years. I guess she didn’t realize the movie would be released on my birthday.
