Two weeks ago, on a Freaky Wednesday, I turned 40. The day before this Freaky Wednesday will be hereto and forever referred to as Terminal Tuesday. That Tuesday was a terrible, horrible, very bad, no good day.
It started in the morning at 5:15 when Spouse gave me a nudge and said, "Shall we go ride the loop?"
I declined because I was old and out of shape and slow and didn't want a reminder that I was old and out of shape and slow. The rest of the day moped on and on. And then it moped on and on some more. The doom and gloom of turning 40 was on the horizon.
Alas Freaky Wednesday arrived. And being as I did all of that goofy mourning the day before, this Wednesday was in the clear for getting my freak on. It started with a six mile run. Six miles! (Remember I had been injured for what seemed like years so this was a terrific milestone.)
The day also started with that freak Vera who pronounced this grand birthday to the masses by plastering every mailbox in the hood with a nice photo of yours truly. She also managed to decorate the yard with pink flamingos and little cardboard cut-outs of mini me.
Then there were presents and phone calls and cards and e-mails. The Rabid family had dinner together then met up with the Bee family for some sugar-coated crushed ice. It was a terrific day and I've never felt more loved.
Being 40 ain't so bad after all.