Twenty-six was a great birthday, by my measure. It started with breakfast in bed, a leisurely start to the day, and a true clean slate of a Saturday in which I could do whatever I wanted to do. Nick and I went on a wild goose chase, that ended up being not-so-wild as we were lucky on our second store. The goods? Rollerblades. Yeah man! Nothing to make you feel like half your age than a good pair of rollerblades. Nevermind the fact that the wrist pads and knee pads I threw in there for good measure took me right back up to twenty-six, or doubled my age, rather, but it’s all good. I’ll take a bruised vanity over a broken appendage ANYDAY.
Donning my impressive safety gear and new ‘blades, we took full advantage of a beautifully sunny Saturday and headed over to the Metropark. It was nearly 50 degrees and the park was nowhere near empty. Other couples were strolling on the path, kids were throwing rocks into the river, and hippies were playing disc-golf. It was a picturesque early springtime painting. Sublime.
After my first foray into rollerblading in over a decade, we took to the open road in search of a quaint little restaurant on a nearby lake, but was unsuccessful. Some deep-dish pizza pie was a very close second option, and I was pleased nonetheless. I thought to myself, “Damn, I am lucky!”
After bumming around the house, watching bad movies (Perfect Stranger, The Lookout), and lollygagging, it was time for some birthday dessert. Headed up to the bar, got myself a martini (the b.f. a beer) and we each ordered a dessert. Of course, when Nick’s dessert came, and looked ever so appetizing, I took the liberty of having a few heaping forkfuls, you know, it being my birthday and all. He didn’t even touch mine. What a gentleman.
So, the day didn’t involve partying like a rockstar, I didn’t have a huge party with copious amounts of liquor and beer, I didn’t demand roses and diamonds and the likes, but damn, that was as near a perfect day as I’ve ever had. Damn, I am lucky.