Birthday Thoughts

I have friends who would rather eat squirrel brains than face a public acknowledgement of their birthday. I think they're nuts.
I am of the opinion that my birthday should be a national holiday. Most years it is. Americans get off from work. They wile away the day barbecuing pork, chicken or tofu, depending on their arterial condition. They culminate the day with fireworks displays in my honor. They used to give me a parade down 5th Avenue, but either because of a competing Pakistani day parade, or because of my communication to the Central Labor Council that it was appreciated, but not really necessary, the parade has been cancelled indefinitely.
This year, perhaps because of the sorry state of the economy, the country did not close down for my birthday. This failure was more than compensated for by my friends' and family's spontaneous demonstrations of birthday love.
Well, not exactly spontaneous. It's taken years of training to insure that my nearest and dearest call to sing me "happy birthday." Of course, I understand that circumstances may arise rendering such a call impossible. A friend could be marooned in Luang Prabang without cell service. It might happen that a relative is erroneously incarcerated. Someone could be undergoing open heart surgery. In all those cases, a card will suffice until their circumstances improve.
But yesterday, my birthday, no one was unavoidably prevented from making my birthday perfect. I was serenaded twenty-two times. I received 20 cards-- some with actual postage stamps. I received fabulous gifts that, Lord be praised, I don't have to return. I was feted at lunches and dinners and when I got on the scale this morning, I had only gained a pound. Even the weather was perfect.
So when I looked in the mirror this morning and found a new wrinkle, I smiled contentedly and thought, it comes with the birthday. And if you believe that, there's a mortgage backed security I can sell you.