Over the last few months, I've been planning a semi-surprise party for my husband's 40th. I'd toyed around with a few different ideas, but in the end, I kept it simple. We had a few of our closest friends over, and capped the evening with a tiny house concert featuring musician-friends Jason and Jess (that was the surprise part).
Before the concert started, I made this toast:
Thank you for joining us this evening as we celebrate the man of the hour. Whether you know him as Mike, Miki, Sparksy, or Zipperboy, you are all aware that he possesses a certain ... shall I say, essence.
I'm not going to bore you with any embarrassing tales about his first 40 years on this planet. You already probably know about the time a neighbor had to remove a tick from his delicate bits (he was, what, 12?). And you know about the time he was bit by the acting bug and decided to perform as a dung beetle, naked, in front of a sliding glass door. There's a reason we no longer have cable and I'm looking at you, Animal Planet.
You'd think this means he likes the creepy crawlies, right? Not so much - you've all heard about the time he vaulted over a couch after seeing a wasp in our first apartment. I'm pretty sure that's how the original kung fu got started - 1 man, 1 wasp, hi-ya! Or how about the Attack of the Cicada last year - remember how he defended himself with a 1/2 gallon of melting ice cream (no ice cream was wasted, FYI).
The year you were born, Miki, was a good one, and not just because Marvin Gaye released "Let's Get It On", or Aerosmith sang "Dream On", or Elton John graced us with "Candle in the Wind" (and "Benny and the Jets"). Nor is it because the Wailers jammed out with "Get Up, Stand Up", or because Slade wooed us with their power love ballad, "Cum on Feel the Noiz".
1973 was a good year because suddenly, there was you. Sweet, innocent, and optimistic. What the hell happened? But seriously, I've known you since September 1990, when we sat across from each other in our drafting class, Supe at the helm with his enormous sausage fingers. I can honestly say that you've not only aged well, but that you've definitely gotten better with age (that is what she said). Just before your 21st birthday, you swept me off my feet for the 2nd time - for real, for real - and I can only hope that - with as little touching as possible - you'll sweep me off my feet every day, every week, and every year, again and again and again.
Happy Birthday, my love. And you know, 40's not that old - if you're a tree.