The best birthdays are a combination of simple pleasures and concentrated extravagances.
Mine started with a priceless gift: sweet slumber, more-or-less uninterrupted, from 6am to 9:30. At which point I got up to make coffee and play with the girlie for a couple of hours before she got sleepy again. I put her to bed, worked on a couple of projects, then went for a run. Since the temperature in degrees Fahrenheit was twice my age, I dressed sans shirt, and perfectly paired a hilly run with Incubus’ Make Yourself.
I returned to a distinctive box on the doorstep, drank two cups of it, read a lovely card from my dear Gram, reveled in several voicemails (the best was from my loving brother: “one step closer to forty!”), and opened a couple of presents.
A shower and a few phone calls, and we were out the door to my favorite Mexican restaurant for a Pacifico and fish tacos. Plus the perfect appetizer: how could you improve chorizo? Why, by submerging it in melted cheese, of course! Then, cake from Tivoli, some Scotch that’s half my age, a smooth cigar from a certain island nation, and School of Rock on TV, makes Mike a very happy boy.