My Eighty-Sixth Birthday

     If  I make it to my eighty-seventh birthday, I will try to remember I'm an old fart and shouldn't act like I was still in my seventies.

     The alarm went off at six-thirty on my birthday, May 22nd. I groaned as I switched it off and rolled out of bed. Did I really follow this routine for the ten years I worked at the Government house? I have never been a morning person, so in order to get to work on time, I gave myself at least an hour to drink coffee and hopefully after that, get dressed and face the day. I was retired now. Why get up so early?

     My friend was taking me out for a birthday breakfast and she had a lot to do afterwards. I was the first on her schedule. We met three other women at the restaurant, one of whom had just turned fifty and was celebrating her birthday, too.

     Well, I'd show them I could keep up. No walker, just a cane. It was a  long walk to the front door of the restaurant, but I made it. Another walk to the table. Oh, my gosh, they were hard wooden chairs. Just what my behind needed. I had lost so much weight, I had no natural padding there. Okay, I could handle this. I shifted to my left hip and crossed my legs. That was my first mistake. My ankle started to hurt. There wasn't much to do at that point except grin and enjoy the companionship.

     When I finally got home, I was going to rest so I could enjoy my birthday dinner out. Who needed rest! Phone calls from faraway friends took up most of the afternoon.

     By the time I headed out for dinner I at least knew what to expect. Dinner alone with my best friend was wonderful, even with those hard chairs.

     At one point, while I was bragging about my age to the waitress, an elderly man, sitting with someone I guessed was his daughter – unless he could still remarkably get it up – walked over to wish me a happy birthday. “It's my birthday, too, but I prefer to just say I'm getting older.”

     “Why?” I asked. “Don't you realize today is the youngest you'll ever be? I'm proud of that fact. You should be, too.”

     He cocked a scraggly eyebrow. “I never thought of it that way but you're right.” He grinned. “I'm eighty-six, too.”

     That seemed to break the ice. For the rest of our meal, he kept looking over and waving. Another couple walked in and sat near us. He had a shock of white hair that most women would kill for. As we were leaving, I stopped by their table and asked was it his birthday, too.

     He slapped his knee and laughed. “Hell, no. I'm celebrating the fact I'm still alive.”

     It had been a delight meeting those couples and made for the end of a wonderful day.

      I want to thank those who love me enough to share their day with me. I learned a good lesson, though.

      Enjoy the friends you love, but remember you're too old to think you can keep up with them. Let them slow down to your pace.