HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BILL!
Today is Bill's birthday!
I came downstairs this morning and hugged him with a big "Happy Birthday!" and asked him if he was excited about my surprise dinner. Some family and I are taking him to Wicker Park to a vegan-friendly place that I found on Open Table. We probably won't blend into the hipster atmosphere. Bill's beard is gone, I don't have any tats, Rosemary's nose is free of piercings. Oh well. But what could be more hipster than eating a cauliflower steak for dinner? On a Thursday!
Our clothing is what my students refer to as "basic." There's another hipster trait that we'll be lacking. I came downstairs today with one sock on. One two-year-old, fuzzy slipper sock that is so stretched out it barely clings to my ankle anymore. I think it was white at one point. Now it's ashen, dingy ivory, accented by my unshaved November legs. I really know how to make Bill's birthday morning special. Love is in the air. To add to the festive spirit I kissed him with unbrushed teeth and wiped the charcoal smear of mascara off my cheek.
It's 6:26 a.m. and Bill is already watching a how-to video on YouTube. He proceeds to explain a technique he is researching for our counters.
"Sounds great . . ." I murmur, scurrying to my new Ninja coffee pot. A running joke between us is I am not super interested in discussing detailed subjects in the morning. Actually, I'm not interested in discussing anything in the morning. When neither of us is listening to the other our go-to response is, "Sounds great, Greg." There's an allusion that will be lost on hipsters.
"I suppose no one in your office knows it's your birthday," I note as I drop Bill off at the train.
"No, but I'll tell them. I may even treat myself and get lunch downtown. Maybe someone will buy me some udon soup," Bill jokes.
What does one buy Bill for his birthday? I have no idea. Men are impossible to buy for. This isn't a "Bill" thing. So I try to be creative to support his commitment to health. My gifts have run the gamut of custom made cereal of flax, oats, acorns, and bark to therapeutic slippers made of neoprene or something? Bill put them on and screeched, "OW! SON OF A!" Next was some organic, expensive shaving cream for his head. I think it was made from the pollen or honey from a famous union worker bee who was raised in Tuscon or something. Except Bill uses an electric razor. Yoga gift certificates, green tea, some photography kit that uses sunlight I think?
I hit a home run about ten years ago. We have woods classes at my high school. Yes. Woods. How cool is this? I love that part of our building. It's like Rydell High. Rosemary took Woods I and Woods II as a student here. We have a side table and clock in our living room that she crafted. One year the woods teacher offered to teach the faculty how to make a wooden pen. Could there be a more perfect gift for a writer? I spent a few sessions working on the lathe to create the thickness I thought would be perfect for his hand. Then we received the hardware to put it all together. I think I chose black ink.
He loved it.
I gave her my heart and she gave me a pen. (Can hipsters identify the movie? Maybe I'll quiz our waiter/waitress tonight.)
Simplicity.
Bill's birthday began simply today and will most likely continue as a simple day. He wouldn't have it any other way.
Happy Birthday, Bill!
I came downstairs this morning and hugged him with a big "Happy Birthday!" and asked him if he was excited about my surprise dinner. Some family and I are taking him to Wicker Park to a vegan-friendly place that I found on Open Table. We probably won't blend into the hipster atmosphere. Bill's beard is gone, I don't have any tats, Rosemary's nose is free of piercings. Oh well. But what could be more hipster than eating a cauliflower steak for dinner? On a Thursday!
Our clothing is what my students refer to as "basic." There's another hipster trait that we'll be lacking. I came downstairs today with one sock on. One two-year-old, fuzzy slipper sock that is so stretched out it barely clings to my ankle anymore. I think it was white at one point. Now it's ashen, dingy ivory, accented by my unshaved November legs. I really know how to make Bill's birthday morning special. Love is in the air. To add to the festive spirit I kissed him with unbrushed teeth and wiped the charcoal smear of mascara off my cheek.
It's 6:26 a.m. and Bill is already watching a how-to video on YouTube. He proceeds to explain a technique he is researching for our counters.
"Sounds great . . ." I murmur, scurrying to my new Ninja coffee pot. A running joke between us is I am not super interested in discussing detailed subjects in the morning. Actually, I'm not interested in discussing anything in the morning. When neither of us is listening to the other our go-to response is, "Sounds great, Greg." There's an allusion that will be lost on hipsters.
"I suppose no one in your office knows it's your birthday," I note as I drop Bill off at the train.
"No, but I'll tell them. I may even treat myself and get lunch downtown. Maybe someone will buy me some udon soup," Bill jokes.
What does one buy Bill for his birthday? I have no idea. Men are impossible to buy for. This isn't a "Bill" thing. So I try to be creative to support his commitment to health. My gifts have run the gamut of custom made cereal of flax, oats, acorns, and bark to therapeutic slippers made of neoprene or something? Bill put them on and screeched, "OW! SON OF A!" Next was some organic, expensive shaving cream for his head. I think it was made from the pollen or honey from a famous union worker bee who was raised in Tuscon or something. Except Bill uses an electric razor. Yoga gift certificates, green tea, some photography kit that uses sunlight I think?
I hit a home run about ten years ago. We have woods classes at my high school. Yes. Woods. How cool is this? I love that part of our building. It's like Rydell High. Rosemary took Woods I and Woods II as a student here. We have a side table and clock in our living room that she crafted. One year the woods teacher offered to teach the faculty how to make a wooden pen. Could there be a more perfect gift for a writer? I spent a few sessions working on the lathe to create the thickness I thought would be perfect for his hand. Then we received the hardware to put it all together. I think I chose black ink.
He loved it.
I gave her my heart and she gave me a pen. (Can hipsters identify the movie? Maybe I'll quiz our waiter/waitress tonight.)
Simplicity.
Bill's birthday began simply today and will most likely continue as a simple day. He wouldn't have it any other way.
Happy Birthday, Bill!
Comments
😂😂 priceless!