A Very Merry Unbirthday

This morning, only moments ago, hubby and I proved, once again, why our math skills are nothing to kvell over. This morning, only moments from now, we are taking Sir Blakey of Sherman Oaks to the vet. To you, this sounds like so what. To us, this is big news. Why? I'll tell you why. Because Sir Blakey has never met our wonderful vet. But that's only part of it. When Sir Blakey adopted us, three weeks ago today, he told us in his own special way that he was three-and-a-half, more or less. This morning, we will be called upon at the vet's office to give Sir Blakey's date of birth, an occasion we must make up for we have no records of his arrival on Planet Oy Gevalt. And so, the date in question involves the afore-mentioned math.

"Let's say he was born in March 2013," hubby suggested, after doing some fancy counting backwards on his manly fingers. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, I did some silent counting on my dainty digits and realized, uh no, that would make Sir Blakey too old. "Man of my dreams," I began, "I must inform you that your calculations are a bit off." Whereupon he crossed over to the calendar on the fridge, held up by clever magnets that say "Where did I go wrong?" and "It's all about me." In cinematic style, calendar pages started flipping this way and that until hubby arrived at the sixth month mark of May, a very merry unbirthday, indeed. So today, only moments from now, we will tell the nice people at the vet that Sir Blakey's birthday is May 1, 2013, more or less. This is the first time in our humble lives that we're making up a birthday date out of bupkis. It feels so wrong, and yet, somehow, it feels right. Who said we don't like to live on the edge?