My birthday is the day that I get way sucked up to. In the office, people say “happy birthday.” They want to take me to lunch. Send me cards. Acknowledge the date of my birth. And at home, it is the absolute suck-up fest. I become wonderful. The day is wonderful, because I was wonderfully born on it. It is all wonderful, and all me.

The 14-year-old was wondering and wonderfulling on my birthday.

Him: Happy Birthday. You are the best parent in the world.
Me: Well, I’m your best parent. And also your worst.
Him: No, you’re just great. And it’s a great day because if it wasn’t for this day, many years ago, I wouldn’t be here.
Me: So is it YOUR birthday?
Him: NO! It’s your birthday.

Hmmmmm, it seems that even when it’s about me, it’s not. Well, he’s wonderful, too.

p.s. speaking of wonnerful, the Doc is going off on a R&R journey until mid-August. I will return to my thinkin’ when I return.

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