Turns out, some nice people I've known forever keep getting older, which is a good thing, kina hora, when you consider the alternative. Many of my dearest friends are turning 60. Good for them and mazel tov. The SJG remains a youthful 59 and holding. But back to the altacockers I've known since junior high. Last night we celebrated Paul's 60th at his Encino estate. It was quite the shindig, what with the bounty of hors d'oeuvres, the elegant buffet, the free-flowing booze and a birthday cake that turned my teeth blue, which many around me found hilarious. All they did was laugh at me. Laugh and laugh and laugh, while I kept saying, "What? What?! What?" Given such cruelty, I wonder why I'm still hanging out with them. Oh right, I get to make fun of them, too. That's what you do when you've known people a long time. You make fun of them and make them laugh until they lose control of their aging bladders, and vice versa. If that's not comedy, and a reason to start wearing Depends, what is? For me, the highlight of the evening was when a giant poster of Paul as a baby appeared, a remnant of his 18th birthday. Many of us present for his 60th had signed that poster on his 18th. The circle of birthday parties. I shoved everyone out of the way, or maybe they ran away from me in fear, on account of the blue teeth, to get a closer look at what I'd written to Paul in honor of his 18th, with love from me and future hubby, on that faded birthday poster.
Dear Paul,
As you go through life, don't forget to breathe.
xoxo Carol & Howard
I went up to Paul, blue teeth and all, and said, "Did you know you have me to thank for being alive?" "I do?" "Duh. At 18, I reminded you to keep breathing and obviously you took my advice." "Thank you." "You're welcome." See that? Another moment that sums up what I've been telling you all along. The SJG is a giver.
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