I am now 51. That’s 11 Celsius. (I stole that joke from George Carlin.) I have now lived longer than my mother who died of cirrhosis of the liver. Unlike my mother’s final years, I have been extremely happy these last few years. I’m not sure why, but I attribute it to the fact that I never thought I would live to see 21. That in itself is a very long story for various reasons.
I don’t usually celebrate my birthday because to me it feels like just another day. There are no significant milestones for your birthdays after you turn 10, 13, 18, 21, and if you’re a male, 25 because then you auto insurance rates drop. I must admit that I was initially nervous about turning 30, but when my thirtieth birthday came, I felt no different than the day before.
More than a year has passed since I turned 50. But I will never forget it as an important milestone since I had an unusual fiftieth birthday party. As a police officer, I worked with Vinny and John as regular partners. One day, Vinny told me he was having a surprise birthday party for John. I said it was a great idea and that I would help him arrange everything. Then Vinny asked when my birthday was and how old I would be. Well, John’s birthday was in July and mine was in May and we were both turning 50. I told Vinny that I didn’t want a birthday party, but he insisted on including me in on the party. I reluctantly agreed.
Well, Denise and Margaret, two other police officers we knew well, helped with the party arrangements. Denise took charge of ordering the cakes. Everyone was surprised when she unveiled the cakes at the birthday party. Denise and Margaret were so proud of themselves. One cake was topped with a pair of breasts and the other with a vagina. I’m proud to say that mine was the vagina cake. It was pure, unadulterated pornography! Denise knew of a Mexican bakery that specialized in custom cakes. I truly believe that only a female could think of something as creative as this because we lesser male beings would have come up with something as lame as, “Happy Birthday!” Everyone, male and female, loved the cakes!
When the party ended, we had leftover cake. No one wanted to take any home, so I volunteered to take home the leftovers to my sons. When I looked in the cake boxes, all that was left of the cakes was the breasts and the vagina. “I can’t take that home to my sons!” I said. I could just see my sons waking up, opening the fridge, and looking for something to snack on. Somehow, I didn’t think I could come up with a satisfactory explanation. So Denise scraped off the female genitalia from the cakes and I felt safe taking them home. That was certainly my most memorable birthday party.
Chicago USA 