Recently, someone apologized for mixing up my birthday with another day.
As a general note to all: I am the LAST person that should be apologized to for this. I am horrible with numbers and dates. The only for-sure birthdays that I can recall, at any given time, are mine and my brother’s. Other than that, it’s a crap shoot. I might remember a birthday just in time. I might totally forget. A nifty internet sight might inform me of an impending B-Day. So . . . my birthday well-wishing is very inconsistent. But I try and show my friendship in other ways.
So don’t worry. If you miss or have to ask me anything regarding a date I don’t take offense. I think society is too wrapped up in numbers and too distracted from the the more important textures. People walk around, as if on broken glass, terrified, paranoid of forgetting some date (when they first met, when the anniversary is, when the second cousin’s monkey’s uncle was born), our mind’s held hostage by calendars. RELAX. Let it go. Buy a Mayan calendar and really confuse the stiffs.
I don’t recall numbers well, but I do ingrain images and feelings and laughs and crazy conversations like a trap (I just can’t always put a date to them). I remember the first kiss, the conversation at the edge of a party, the dirty joke on the road trip, the words shared on a swing set after hours.
Personally, I think someone telling you that they are celebrating the fact that you were born, is a nice thought, on any day. So go ahead and wish me a happy birthday in the middle of October – I’ll be tickled pink.
NOTE: Josh will not actually turn pink. His clothes may, in fact, get even blacker. He will, however, smile.