Friday was my birthday. The big twenty-nine, an age when you feel like you’re still really young until you are around people that actually ARE really young, and then you feel super old. I had a pretty quiet day planned- quiet, but nice!- because O had class. I slept in as late as I wanted, downloaded a new book for my beloved Kindle and cuddled into my favorite quilt with cookies and milk for breakfast. We were planning to go out to eat in the evening.
Then O came home unexpectedly.
“Let’s go somewhere!” he said.
“What about class?” I said.
“I’m skipping it today. I was on the way home, about to get a cake, but then I thought, that’s boring. It’s your birthday. Let’s go somewhere!” he said.
And just like that, we hopped on a train to New York City. It’s one of the things I love most about him, his spontaneity, and it played out this time in the form of the best birthday ever. We built memory palaces for his cardio physiology class on the train (Moonwalking with Einstein, anyone?), walked around Times Square, ate some tasty Cuban food, and decided to throw our names in the ticket lottery for The Book of Mormon. Sold out until 2014, thank you very much, but O said he was 100% sure we would beat out the other 298 people who felt lucky that night, too.
Also, we laughed as shopkeepers and comedians tried to sell us stuff.
Street full of diamond jewelry: “Hey! Your lady deserves it”
Comedian with a show that night: “Hey! Ginger Beard, where are you going?”
I was giddy with anticipation by the time they started drawing names for the lottery. I almost didn’t care if we got tickets; I was already vibrating with happiness. There were 22 seats available, meaning about 12 or 13 lucky winners. Names were drawn. Texas, Florida, California, New York. Yeah, buddy from Australia, God Bless America… except I wanted those tickets.
As the last name was drawn, the announcer said there was just one seat left. Whoever the final winner was would have to decide how much they liked their date, because they had circled the “two tickets please” on their entry form. AND THEN THIS GUY WHO HAD ALREADY WON TWO SEATS SAID HE ONLY NEEDED ONE AND O’S NAME WAS DRAWN AND THEY EVEN PRONOUNCED IT RIGHT AND WE BOTH GOT TICKETS! O calmly said, “That’s me!” while I shrieked “It’s my birthday! It’s my birthday!”
When we showed up two hours later to be seated, the ticket fellow said happy birthday to me so I’m pretty sure those shrieks reached far and wide, permanently embedding themselves into the brains of anyone within a four mile radius. Either that or my maniacal grin was more recognizable than I might have hoped.
The show was great. The day was great. Hopefully year numero
28 29 will be great, too. (I think maybe it will be.)
P.S. Yes, that strikethrough is because I wrote 28 instead of 29 on my first attempt. Old much? I have already forgotten my age. Also, yes, building a memory palace to remember it has already been suggested.