Please don’t write about your birthday again. Please. I can’t bear to read one more word about how neglected you feel. About how Husband #1 disappointed you. Boo hoo hoo. Please. I pretended to care a little bit, but it just isn’t working for me. I have other things to worry about. More important things than your birthday. Not another word about it!!! How’s that for impressive mind reading??
Well folks, it is over. I have begun my sixth decade of life. The marching band has put its instruments away. The skywriters have landed their planes. The fireworks show is over, and Rick Springfield is off performing a private concert for another chubby middle-aged woman. But, thank God, what a wonderful birthday it was. It was almost worth the six months I spent talking about it to anyone who would listen.
My birthday celebration began with my favorite Dil #1 and Son #1 surprising me for Shabbos. I had hoped that they would come and I even cooked like they were coming, but until I saw them, I wasn’t entirely sure. (And their car wasn’t parked where it usually is, so I really thought that maybe they weren’t coming.) And Dil #1 baked me the most beautiful cake, with all different colors, and it was delicious. And even if it wasn’t delicious (which it was) I was so happy that she made me a cake, it could have been made out of kale and I still would have loved it!!!
Ok, I will stop talking about it. My birthday. I will stop. But, before I stop, one more thing — Husband #1 did real good. Son #3 told me how much time Husband #1 put into making my birthday perfect. I responded with how I have been making his life perfect for 25 year, and Son #3 said, “Dad has worked harder for the last few weeks than you have in 25 years!!!” I will just let that go. He did good. And now I will stop talking about it. I promise.
And on to the next topic. The joy of masks. Now that it is getting colder out, masks come in handy because they keep your face warm. You don’t even need a scarf! The bad thing about masks is that you cannot always identify the person you are passing, and there is a chance that you are saying hello to someone that you don’t like. The horror!!!! Being nice to someone you don’t like!! It is like when a car honks you when you are walking and you have no idea who it is and you wave like an idiot. I can’t see who is honking me. I just assume it is someone who knows me and not someone letting me know that I am taking up too much room on the street. I hope. Or maybe I am taking up too much room. Who knows. I am 50 now, I can do whatever I want!
Many, many months ago, when this pandemic thing started, I ordered a mask with my name on it. Since my name is sort of unusual, I am very excited about personalizing things, so I ordered this mask even though it said it would take at least 10 weeks to arrive. Ten weeks, I thought. I might not even need the mask by then. Ha ha, the joke was on me. I still need it. But it is my “fancy” mask and I wear it only for socially distanced simchas. That’s me, very fancy. But I love when people realize that my name is on my mask. Yes, it is all about me. Don’t worry, I won’t start talking about my birthday again. And it is still six months until Mothers Day. You are all safe.
In conclusion, it was a wonderful birthday. Even though my bochur from Baltimore didn’t come home (he wasn’t allowed to leave, because if he did, he wouldn’t be allowed back in, and I guess that would be bad). He did call several times throughout the day. My sister totally surprised me, and we got to celebrate our birthdays together. And even though it rained, it was all perfect.
Ok, now I am done. I promise.
Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck is hoping that the world still is standing when this column is published, and that we all survived Election Day.