“Mwrew!” That’s how I woke up Friday. That’s not my voice. My voice has a scratchy/groggy quality at 9am.
Every year at this time I wonder the same thing: is it our attitude that shapes our birthday, or our birthday that shapes our attitude? When I was six, my birthday was bulletproof. Not even the dog humping my saddle shaped cake could ruin that day. It just meant there was more cake for everybody else. Now I’m a whiny old man with a kitty on my chest and getting out of bed is reason enough to grouse.
“Mwrew!” Yeah, sorry, that is a real cat and not some special Rob birthday euphemism pinning me to the bed. My birthday wish didn’t come true and I’m a little grumpy; 41 isn’t even disillusion proof.
“Mwrew!” Persephone says nudging my wrinkled old forehead. Her whiskers tickle my dangling jowls.
“You know I’m not getting up right now, right? It’s my birthday. I’m sleeping in. I need my beauty sleep.”
She seems to understand. She turns around and backs her other end into my face. I won’t paint you the rubbing tickling picture from that angle. Let’s just skip to:
“OK! I’m up!” I throw the blanket back and roll to the floor.
Persephone hops down. The “mission accomplished” banner flapping from her tail on a wind of unknown origins. I wasn’t nearly as excited about the whole “getting up” thing. Something about birthdays after 21: they roll in with far less fanfare and far more drum dirge.
I’m how old? Crap…
Persephone didn’t care. She was just excited because it was another day to greet with a raised tail and a bowl of food. I wished I could share her innocent joy.
I’m 41. Are birthdays happy on their own? Last birthday, I was rebuilding from divorce. I fortified that birthday with every happy sandbag I could throw down. Last year I pulled pork, bought a key lime pie, and bolstered myself in preparation for the big “four-oh-my-gawd-I’m-old.” By the time my day was over, I was too fat and happy to not have fun.
This year I didn’t do anything. I was too busy reestablishing my routine from the Pirate Queen’s visit. I was chasing her ghost. I missed her. I was more worried about those implications, when my birthday slipped in unannounced.
“Mwrew!” Persephone said from the doorway.
“Yeah, I’ll second that.” I followed her out into the hallway to see what she thought was so important.
“Mwrew!” She stopped at the bathroom. One paw tapped her box full of little misshapen gifts wrapped in litter.
“Thanks, kitty. You always know the perfect gift.” So this was going to be one of those birthdays.
I stumbled into the kitchen and started the coffee. Maybe the bitter brew would make my brighter. On second thought, only one thing could make the experience perfect. I stepped outside to grab the LA times. It was always filled with chipper news.
The sky was gray and overcast and humidity hung in the air like a shroud. It may never rain in California, but it sure can sulk when it wants to.
A box sat on the porch: my first birthday gift! The label said “Do It Yourself Pest Control.” Yeah, my first present was food for my ants.
I grab the paper and wander back inside. There’s a message blinking “mourning!” from my answering machine. It’s from the Apple store. They’d like to give me my laptop back. I’d fed the thing coffee after midnight a few weeks ago, and it filled with gremlins. Apple just wanted to say their little extermination project was a success.
That was the good news. I’d missed my keyed companion. The bad news was that they’d replaced the keyboard, the trackpad, the superdrive, and apple core wires. The original estimate was $750, and the phone call didn’t seem to dispute that. My dad had sent me a gift card for my birthday, but it wasn’t anywhere near that total. I could return Persephone’s gift, but I didn’t think the exchange rate was very good on a crap gift.
I called MyEx, “It’s my birthday!”
“Yes. It is. Happy birthday.”
“You didn’t get me anything, I have an idea for a present.”
She laughed at my idea. She thanked me for the best birthday laugh ever, and then she hung up, still giggling.
By now, my coffee was ready. I turned on my home computer. Outlook opened up with a reminder I hadn’t set, “Happy Birthday!” The Pirate Queen had been up to mischief during her visit here.
I smiled. It felt unnatural for this holiday. When I opened my email, there were more Birthday tidings from my queen. It appeared she cared. I smiled a little bigger. So far, this was the best gift of all.
After email, I decided to go play a little Guitar Hero. Maybe I could shred the rest of my birthday gloom before picking up my laptop. I’d made it to the last levels; now I wanted to see how the game ended. Maybe that’s how I’d spend my birthday alone with me.
Halfway through Ozzy’s “Mr. Crowley.” The doorbell rang. Looking out the screen, there was this guy in Joseph’s shirt of blinding colors and a matching hat.
“My eyes! My eyes!” I screamed and dropped the guitar, losing the level.
Multi-color man didn’t seem amused. It wasn’t his birthday. He held something wrapped in plastic with a “Happy Birthay” Mylar balloon tethered to it, and a stuffed bear shoved in the crook of his arm. It didn’t seem to match the dark music exuding from my living room. Still the delivery man’s checking his watch and his route pad completed a mood image all its own.
“Yes?” I said.
“Robert Boyd?”
“That’s me.”
“Sign here.” He didn’t seem impressed. He handed me a pad of paper. I’m used to this reaction. Still I wanted him to look a little happier. It was my birthday.
“It’s my birthday.” I smiled.
“You don’t say.” He said reading the balloon as he put the gift in my hand and moved the bear to the crook of my arm. Looking in my hand, somebody had sent me an edible arrangement of chocolate covered strawberries.
It could only be one person. I knew only one person who sailed to exotic ports to retrieve this kind of treasure. The card confirmed my suspicion: The Pirate Queen. I called her to say thanks. I was laughing. She’d turned my day alone into a birthday embrace, even from 2500 miles away.
“Thank you. You are the sweetest.”
“Happy birthday! She sang. It was a little strained, but it was the sweetest sound I’d heard all day. The Queen was on the road to see family.
We talked for a bit, but she ended our call in the usual manner: “Look, I’m getting pulled over by the cops. I have to go.”
“Ok, thanks again!”
My spirits were definitely raised. My morning of gloom had shifted. Even the sky had cleared. I figured now was time to go pay my respects to Apple, and receive their gift bill.
When I got there, the woman asked to see my ID. “That doesn’t look like you.”
I looked. It was me. “It is me.” I said.
She shrugged, “it doesn’t look like it.”
What did that mean? The picture was a year old. Did I look like a fossil now?
That didn’t stop her from retrieving my laptop. She disappeared in the back for a few minutes before returning with a foam envelope and a stack of paperwork. Looking through the paperwork, she stops before reaching me. The apple attendant detours to one of her fellow counter cohorts.
I can’t hear what she’s saying, but she’s holding two separate pages, comparing them. Cohort guy nods, and looks at me. He’s got this odd look in his eye, like they’ve discovered distasteful porn on my laptop or something. My laptop only has pictures of me on it and they’re all from the chest up. I can’t imagine what the look is about.
“Did they tell you how much this would cost?” Says the woman with my laptop.
“Yeah, they quoted me $750”
The guy nods, “Go talk to Matt.”
The woman nods too, “I’ll be back.” Great. What now? They make it sound like they want to charge me more.
After a long conference in the back room she returns. “Let me get you up to speed.”
“ok.” I feel my wallet twitch.
“It’s your lucky day. We won’t be charging you anything for the repair.”
“Wow! “ That’s all I can say, but I do follow it up with, “And it’s my birthday!”
“Well happy birthday to you!” She says and smiles.
“I’ll say!”
And that was my birthday. I still don’t know if it’s the birthday that makes the attitude or the attitude that makes the birthday, but some days are just too good, no matter how surly we try to be.
“Mwrew!” Persephone would tell you mean, “I’ve been trying to tell you that all along. “ Just before she lays down on the bed and takes a nap.
***
Later Note: After I wrote this I received an email from MyEx, wishing me a Happy Birthday. I replied to her, and told her about the laptop incident. As soon as I hit “Send” my laptop died.
I took it into Apple service, and they’re scratching their heads over it now. There’s a weird power short that they can’t explain. If you press the button that shows how much power is in the laptop, the laptop dies. I guess it’s a secret.
Anyway, MyEx emailed me, congratulating me on my good fortune, and I emailed her back with my not so good fortune. Only moments later a reply came that read, “Not everyday can be your birthday.”
Truer words have not been spoken.