What's in a Birthday?
I celebrated another birthday the other day, Feelin' proud of myself for havin' lasted this long and still in fairly good health, I set about the day to make the most of it. Before I knew it the missus was up an' came over to wish me a happy birthday. Well that was nice an really bolstered my spirits. Thus bolstered, I went about the business of takin' a slice outta life.
Well, a couple'a things had gone haywire durin' the course o' the week so I thought I'd tackle them an' get things put back on an even keel. First thing was the blinkin' barbecue that wasn't workin' proper. So I brought it in the house to thaw out first of all. I put it on MY desk in MY office, right on top o' the missus' duster, sayin' nothin'.
“Just what do you think you're doin' with that thing in the house?” she says to me.
“I'm fixin' it,” I says.
“You're not fixin that piece o' junk! We only paid twenty-five bucks for it!”
“Hey! When we first moved to the city, twenty-five bucks would pay a month's rent AND buy the groceries, so don't knock it.”
“Yeah, well that was seventy years ago.”
“Don't matter. At least I know the value of a dollar.”
“Don't matter is right. You ain't fixin' it! We'll go buy a new one.”
Well the whole business of who's fixin' what an' who's buyin' what goes on for a while an' no body's getting' wore down in the argument. Finally she says. “You have no authority!”
“WHAT? I HAVE NO WHAT?”
She's got this smug look on her face. “No authority,” she says again quietly.
There's somethin' in that tone of voice that makes me think I'm gonna lose the argument. “Now look here lady,” I start. “I'm settin' here in my office where I'm the supreme commander an' YOU'RE tellin' me I got no authority? I think you're wrong there!”
“I don't care where you're settin'. You're an old man. In fact you've never ever been this old before. You've come full circle an' are now in your second childhood. Some body's got to take charge. So you're NOT fixin the barbecue.”
Well, I got maybe one gambit left. “Well, fine! You want me to do any more barbecuein' then you dig into yer own wallet an' come up with a new barbecue!”
“Fine with me. I know you want to be cremated, but it ain't gonna happen on our balcony before you're even dead,” she says. “I don't fancy pickin' your guts off the railin's to hand them over to the crematorium.”
We kind'a both won that argument. That's what I'm thinkin' anyways. Well okay, maybe I lost, but at least I got a free barbecue out of it, an' I don't have to fix that old piece o' junk. That's the nice part about arguin' with your best friend. You can always figure it out so's you both win an' nobody get's their nose outta joint. At least that's how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.