thea lux (dot) com

To my darling wife, Maria,

I know they say that age is a relative thing, like, our relatives are aged and grow old and die, and that’s exactly what crossed my mind earlier this evening.

This, your 30th birthday, is something to celebrate.  And not just at TGI Fridays.

I don’t want you to expect gifts or songs or cheer, because think if I did not give you those things. What if I instead gave you one word:  “Life.”  Now, some would throw a fit and lock themselves in their room and eat the last of the Raisin Bran claiming it was the only thing she was going to have for her birthday dinner.  And that someone would be guilty of two things:  Not finding the $10 Borders gift card under her pillow, and not understanding that I just gave her the best gift ever.  Technically the gift of life can only be given to a child from a parent.  And technically that may have some truth behind it, but I am the one who will remind you of your alived-ness.

So this, on your birthday, seize it like you seize those sour cream potato chips.  Stop saying the word “old” to describe yourself.  You’re not old.  You’re just “alive.”  You’re at the age where people stop themselves when you tell them how alive you are.  When you say, “I’m turning 30,” people say, “You don’t look that–you don’t look like you’ve…reached that milestone.”

You’re at the age where previously mothers would hang themselves with their newly born baby’s umbilical cord once she realized the gestation period and birth alone nearly killed her and she had two more years before a dog with teeth ate her in a cave.  You have not been eaten by a dog with teeth!  That’s really living!

Thirty is the new twenty!  Plus, you apparently don’t look thirty, I mean, a haggard thirty.  And how are we supposed to act when we’re of age, really? I wouldn’t know since I’m not thirty, but these are all phrases that popped into my head while I was looking at birthday cards.  Being thirty means that you don’t have to finish that bottle of wine.  Now, there’s wine in a box now that’s perfectly acceptable for you to purchase, AND that has at least 2-4 bottles in it!  Who’s going to gossip about you if you drink 2-4 wine in a box bottles?  It’s not like you go out with friends or anything because they all have babies, probably.

What to do when you’re another year alive-r? Are you supposed to sit and check your messages on your phone as the young people joyously play Catch Phrase?  Are you proud of your ability to spend more money on alcohol because of your discerning taste?  You should boast of your many credit cards.  Young people have to spend two dollars on swill to have a good time.  Young people, or should I say, dead people.

(Okay, I know they’re not really dead, but they’re more dead than you in this metaphor, even though you’re like, way closer to actual death.  So maybe they’re more like comatose vegetable people.  Or the walking dead.  Vegetable people might be less creepy.)

So you’re thirty and looking at these zombie vegetable people and still feeling sorry for yourself because you didn’t get a cake or phone call or other meaningless expressions of good will?  That shit doesn’t matter.  ALIVE is what matters.  You know you’re alive and you know who you are.  You have to go to bed at night because you have responsibilities.  Young people don’t have that.  They are doing things like lolly-gagging that require frivolous double letters.  Your responsibilities are mono syllabic:  Work.  Home.  Drink.  Sleep.  You know what’s important.  You are not lost in the complications of whose bed you’re going to end up in, or what adventure you will find yourself in next.  Your path is mapped.

I hope you read this birthday card.  I’m sure you remember, but last year’s was nearly unintelligible after your tears smeared the ink so much, so hopefully this birthday’s message will last for years to come, unless you die within the year.

So happy birthday, my love.  I know you like marble cake, but they didn’t have any,  so I just got us toilet paper, which we needed anyway and you said you were going to buy but apparently didn’t get around to it.

Yours, as always,
Charles

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