I know, I know. This ALSO isn't the previously promised, upcoming cow post that everyone's been waiting for. Or doesn't care about. Semantics! But this one's been languishing in the queue for a while and I thought now would be the perfect time to publish it since today is the birthday of this blog's favorite medical professional and steadfast defender of our country, Desert Nurse! (That's right: He's a nurse AND a soldier and blah blah, big deal. WHAT A SHOWOFF. I can do a triple-double axel combo jump. While blindfolded. And balancing a stack of books on my head. How about THAT? Okay, fine. I actually can't. But that isn't the point. SHOWOFF.) Anyway. Today, Desert Nurse –– or "Mike" as some of you may know him, except for those of you who know him as something along the lines of "Jerkface" (I'm assuming) –– is turning 32 33 5 102 OH WHATEVER and to whom better to dedicate this post about becoming ancient than someone who is experiencing this exact phenomenon as we speak?
So, Happy Birthday, dude. You don't look a day over...well, you don't look nearly as good as I do. Let's just put it that way.
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Recently (HAHA!) Maureen and I met for dinner at our favorite local Mexican joint so we could catch up on each other's weeks and be there to support one another through the slightly rough patches we'd each been having. Because friendship is like a flower (or something...whatever...flowers die I think??) and a joy shared is a joy doubled and a burden shared is a burden cut in half and boring boring what is taking the waiter so long to bring us our damn tequila shots?? We're pissy parched.
Anyway, at one point we got to talking about the horrendous state of the economy as in we are totally broke because this stupid restaurant won't let us pay the bill with a portion of Lesley's $5,976 Starbucks card which no, I totally do not get either, when –– still discussing how broke we are –– Maureen pulls out her $46 (approximately) tube of lipstick to show me how she's been using her $27 lip brush to scrape the dregs out of the bottom of the tube so as to avoid buying a replacement as long as humanly possible. This is when I noticed that maybe we coincidentally had the exact same tube of lipstick and then THIS CRAP HAPPENED (you know...kinda):
Me: Hey! I think I have that same lipstick! Is that Clinique?
Mo (squinting): I think so.
Me: What color is it?
Mo: I don't know. I can't really read it.
Me: Here. Hold it up to the candle. (Because we eat out in only the most romantic, candlelit restaurants. Because otherwise I'd totally get what is known as zero action whatsoever.) How about now?
Mo: Um...no. Not really. You?
Me (squinting): Hold on...nope. I still can't either. Hold it closer.
Mo: How's this?
Me: No. Closer.
Mo: Dude. Any closer and my hand's going up in flames.
Me: Oh! Here: Try my cell phone.
Me: Now?
Mo (squinting): Uh....sorta.
Me: So what's the color?
Mo: I can see there's type there but I can't read it. WHO IN THE HELL COULD READ TYPE THIS SMALL? It's like they're trying to mess with us. What a$$hol...
Me: Hold up. Is that even a lipstick?
Mo (squinting): What?? Of course it's a lipstick. What am I? A moro...Oh. It's my pen, isn't it?
Me: I have no idea.
Heyyyyyyyy.
THE HOBBLY, BEN GAY-SCENTED END.
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P.S to Mike: Because nothing says, "I'm celebrating the wonder of you on your birthday!" like a really crappy crafty blog post. And did anyone else do anything this thoughtful for you? Exactly: No, they did not. You're welcome.
