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The Shelf Life Of A Birthday
by D. Cashon Klein
Last year I learned that it is futile and a waste of energy to protest and disdain my birthday. This occurred to me as my sister held aloft a neon green posterboard with “Debbie Does New York at Fifty” written on it. New York wasn’t 50, I was 50. I was 50 with a particularly bad, hair dye reminiscent of a candy apple (that couldn’t be fixed prior to the trip). I stood there next to the green, neon sign looking like a perverse human Christmas Card in April, for Katie, Matt, Al, and morning coffee drinkers all across America to see.
This was EXTREME humility. Age seemed pretty insignificant at that moment. Then the singing, bobbing, flashing, rubber cake on the table that night at dinner sealed the deal. I was immune to birthday dread after that inoculation.
So this year, when the human resources department where I work delivered a shiny, helium balloon to my desk, as they do for everyone on their birthday, I didn’t even try to hide. I think I even said “Thank You.” It floated high above me for an unnaturally longtime. As the days and weeks went by, Dave, who delivers UPS packages to my desk, would ask how long I intended to milk my birthday. He, also being an Aries, conceded that our kind do tend to draw things out and push the envelope a tad. He encouraged others in the mail room to come by and wish me a happy birthday. Some even sang. I was really beginning to enjoy this endless birthday.
Finally, or unfortunately, (depending on your point of view) the balloon began to wane, dipping low, ambushing me and the lady in the next cubicle. It would creep in and out of our peripheral vision and then plaster itself to one of our heads. It was time to lay it to rest. I placed its withered body in a box with some plastic lilies ... gilded, plastic lilies. Then I wrote a proper eulogy and typed it up in a nice 14 point Gothic font. The eulogy said:
BALLOON
4-14-2006 TO 6-2-2006
We will miss you good and faithful balloon. You floated high during good times and bad. You never let Debbie down in her pursuit to irritate the mail people. You extended a birthday well beyond its allotted 24 hours (Although it DID fall on the weekend.) Your bobbing and weaving was a constant source of joy and chagrin. May you REST IN PEACE.
I delivered this to the mailroom while no one was watching. Two days later I came to work to discover a bright, shiny, helium balloon ... a Happy Birthday balloon, attached to a base with a sign that said, “It has risen!” (My apologies contained a card. The card read:
BALLOON II
5-29-2006 TO 6-24-2006
Though she knew she could never replace BALLOON, she served well, and was a fine floater in her own right. Alas, hers was not the staying power that BALLOON possessed, but her color was fine, and for that she could be proud. It was her last wish to be cremated, her spirit released to the sky, her ashes spread throughout the mailroom from whence she came. She will be missed.
I delivered her via inter-office mail.
Debbie Cashon Klein is a Safety Harbor resident.
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