Growing up the whole year revolved around birthdays and when that day finally came it was always filled with excitement, friends, gifts, "sunshine and lollipops." Getting older, excitement on your birthday usually entails not having to go to work and not having to cook dinner. Maybe your friend from 7th grade will wish you a happy birthday on Facebook.
When I was 14, my aunt who has the charisma of a rabid skunk, sent me a birthday card that said Happy 13th Birthday! We all laughed about it at every birthday for the entire year. Since she was turning 40 that year we all toyed with the idea of sending her a card wishing her a happy 50th birthday. The next year she sent me the exact same card.
A few years ago Pone and I started a new tradition of telling people that you are 10 years older than you really are on your birthday. That way when you disclose your age people tell you how awesome you look. Apparently, no one else thinks this is funny. They always tell me that I'm supposed to say that I'm younger than I really am. I don't see the humor in that.
Some of you are already aware of my sense of humor. For those that aren't, I have the sense of humor of a 12 year old boy. I've dressed the dog's touchhole up like Santa for a holiday card, and last year I made Pone drive 3 hours just so we could go to Mianus CT. For the record, Mianus is a very nice place. We even had a friend meet us there for lunch. I had a salad, Pone had a sandwich and my friend had a hot dog. Little did he know that I would use that as an excuse to ask him if he enjoyed having a wiener in Mianus.
|Someone with poor vision actually thought this was a photo of me proving that I am in fact a touchhole|
About a month ago Pone and I went to the Brimfield Antique Show. The Brimfield Antique show runs for 6 days and brings out all sorts of weirdos in search of treasures from the past. Pone likes to look for old weird tools and medical devices he can use in his art. I like going places to people watch, plus any place that might have classic Muppet memorabilia or taxidermy is fine by me.
Anyone that knows me in real life or on Twitter knows all about this already, because of my inability to let things go. But here's the story. We got to the antique show and in the first 30 minutes of being there I found a taxidermied deer's ass, with a fox tail. It was the most amazing thing I've ever seen. I've been searching for a taxidermied deer's ass for quite some time. It was a genuine "shut up and take my money," moment. I didn't care what the price tag was on it, I just knew I needed it. When Pone asked the seller how much my holy-grail of a deer ass was, the gentleman in charge said that because of some ordinance in the town, he was unable to sell it to us. He explained that while they were setting up their booth, local law enforcement had been by to inform them that they were keeping tabs on all of the pieces. That they would be fined or even arrested if any pieces were sold or not accounted for in the days ahead.
I was so upset. I finally found what I had been searching for and I couldn't have it. It reminded me of the great Twiddle Bug search of 1998. When I was 17, and looking for this Sesame Street beanie baby that didn't seem to exist. We had gone on vacation to Canada, and it was a Sunday at the end of the trip and I spotted the beanie baby in a store window. I ran to the door of the shop, only to find the door locked and a sign that said "Closed Sundays."
So I can't just let things go, especially not that deer ass. The whole ride home from Brimfield all I did was bitch about it. When we got home I took to social media to voice my dismay. Some people even got texts and personal messages about it. The deer ass pretty much made its way into every conversation, for the past month. I admit my continuous need to bring it up could be described as relentless, but I guess I was just looking for some sort of closure on "the one that got away."
This morning, as I was getting up and having my tea, Pone presented me with a giant box. The box said "To my favorite Touchhole." As I began to open the box, I saw the familiar fox tail. I was almost in tears. I think I kept shrieking "really?!?!?" And then there it was, in all of it's glory. My deer ass with a fox tail. Mine. All mine. Forever. I was so happy. I had gotten exactly what I wanted for my birthday. I felt like the kid in A Christmas Story, getting what he wanted for Christmas. Only I didn't get a gun and I hoped this deer ass wouldn't shoot my eye out.
|Our dog with the Christmas Card touchhole seems to like my gift|
I may have turned 35 today. I may be the perennial curmudgeon. But today I felt young again. I felt like a kid on my birthday. A taxidermied touchhole for a touchhole. What a time to be alive.