All the empty vessels are in the trash and the glasses are in the dishwasher. The lone fallen soldier (a white wine glass) has been placed to rest, his remains where all good stemware go when they can no longer fulfill their duties. The revelers slumber while the banana pancake batter and bloody mary mix await their zombish walk into the kitchen. This is one of my favorite times...
Last night we celebrated my wife's birthday. Twenty or so of our dearest friends, with a few heartbreaking exceptions, filled the patio. Spirits flowed, cheese was munched, and recently murdered basil tempted our taste buds galore.
It was a costume party complete with representatives from Hogwart's, nSync, and Shawn of the Dead... I'm not sure how it could have been any better. There was the one friend who never gets drunk but decided to over do it. There was my gay friend teaching all the women about straight sex. There was an appropriate amount of PG-13 nudity and plenty of stories from parties long since past.
But as I worked the party, complete with Hugh Grant costume, mixing with the crowd and mixing drinks. I realized something that I've always known. I love my wife....
The most intoxicating thing at her party was not the tequila or the even the 18 year old Glennfiddich... It was her. Dressed as her favorite character from A Midsummer Night's Dream, laughing, and talking and generally being irresistible. Cursing without being vulgar, drinking without being drunk, flirting without crossing the line.
So today I'll make sure I tell her... I'll tell her how perfect she was last night and how amazing she looked this morning... And I'll remember that without her birth date... and all the birthdays that brought her to me... life would lack the spice that makes it worthwhile.
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