Miss B

This is a very special story, about a very special lady, who is a very special friend, who is having a very special birthday. These are some of the very special things about her:

She was born on tax day, April 15th.

What day could be more appropriate for the birth of a new, little tax deduction?

Her favorite number is 13.

If you ask her why, you'd better have a long time to listen because the reasons are many.

She doesn't look like a practical joker.

Looks are deceiving because in this photo, she looks nice. I used to be quite a sucker. Innocent. Trusting. No more. She's trained me to prank with the best of 'em. If a little, old, Italian lady every calls you wanting you to do weird stuff, look out.

Her maiden name is the same as her married name.

I'm going to let you think about that one for a while. When she told me, it took a couple of weeks to get up the nerve to ask how it was possible. I mean, she didn't look like she was inbred but, I wasn't going to ask.

She has been my boss. I have been her boss.

There have been days when we've looked at each other and said, "I just want to be the Indian, not the Chief." The other would respond, "Sorry. It's not your turn."

She's made me cry.

While sitting on the pot in the bowling alley bathroom, fully clothed, she told me she was quitting and taking another job. We were in there for a little privacy.

I've made her cry.

While stirring a huge pot of spaghetti sauce in the school kitchen, fully clothed, I told her I was quitting and taking another job. In that kitchen, there was very little privacy.

Her whole life, she'd wanted to find her real father.

For one of her birthdays, I bought her a book I'd heard about on Oprah. It described how to go about finding anyone you wanted. She was so delighted. I was delighted. Her family wasn't. Seems that our innocent, little, sleuthing endeavor was about to bring down a well kept family secret. An incredible secret that, with her permission, I'll one day tell you about.

But until then,

Happy 50-Something, Miss B!

Animal House

Miss B.B. La La

Whenever I pickup up a book or watch a movie about animals, I know there will usually be some kind of tragedy that unfolds. Bambi and Old Yeller taught me what it felt like to have my heart disintegrate into a dusty powder when the finger of death pointed my way. More recently, Marley & Me and The Art of Racing in the Rain gave me a refresher course.

You know. The sad tales that force the tears from your eyes to run, in salty rivulets, to the basin of your mouth. The ones that make your breath heave and shudder and your chest ache, but not so much that you won't go on to the finish. Tales that find the perfect ratio of sadness to joy.

That's how I feel whenever I accept a dog into my family. I know that the pleasure of our journey far out weighs the grief over their loss. Every time one dies, I say never again but, a few months later...here we go again. One of my dogs, Miss B.B. La La, turned 10 years old. She is strong and healthy and full of snarky playfulness. This decade of human years equals some kind of fuzzy canine time that's supposed to make her about 70. Her life span is dwindling.

This 10 year mark is one that I notice, not her. I notice how her already white fur is turning just a shade whiter. How she turns her back to me, puts her ears down and pretends she can't hear me when I call her to go outside. How she'd rather watch the other dogs play than join in as much as she once did. Her breathy whisper, "woof woof," as she gently wakes us in the middle of the night to go out, no longer able to hold her stuffin' until morning.

But, I also notice how she still puts on her 9:30, nightly Butt-Scratch and Sniff show. The funniest show on Earth. As regular as clockwork, she gets up off her pillow, eyes glinting with mischief, scratches her butt on the floor and shoots straight up, more than a foot, while turning and sniffing her butt in mid-air.

I wish I could catch it on video. In that moment, she's as agile as any gymnast. She contorts as well as any pretzel bending contortionist during her, thrice repeated, high flying aerial act. Then she comes over to me, nuzzles my head and schnarfles up the jasmine scent from my hair into her nostrils. For her finale, she hides her head under the sofa cushion with a curtsy as she waits for applause.

We're still enjoying the laughter together. The tears, gathering like a thunder storm along the periphery of my emotions, are still a ways off. Even though I know tragedy will surely unfold, this is a story I'm glad I didn't put down.

Miss B.B. La La getting a birthday kiss from Maaco the Thunder Dog

Mirror Images (Flash Fiction-55)

Photo: The lovely and talented, Miss Jessie

I'm looking

in the mirror
for a difference.

Looking for

more than
crow's feet.
More than
nasolabial folds--
those smile lines
on my sagging face--
that I already have.

Kind of like

when I looked
at myself
in the mirror
after losing my
virginity--

Thinking I

SHOULD
look different.

But my

birthday doesn't

show yet .

Friday Flash Fiction 55: tell a story in EXACTLY 55 words. Go see g-man on Friday to give it a try or read more.

Happy Birthday, Friend!

My, my, my...life comes with a synchronicity that knows no bounds. The topic of this week's Theme Thursday is "FRIEND." As today is one of my best friend's birthday, I'm sure the theme selection was made in her honor. She is one of the people in the above photo. Like Waldo, she likes you to try to find her. Go on...the lucky winner gets a prize. Y'all like Limburger cheese, don't cha?

I guess I should start out by telling you how old she is...well, maybe not. Let's just say she's older than her daughter and younger than Mick Jagger. She is a self confessed "word nerd." She'll spank your apple bottom to a rosy red at Scrabble and challenge you to a race through the telephone book to look up a number. Man, woman or child, you better know your alphabet, because this is one win you'll have to earn.

She's been spotted drinking a bottle, or three, of Coppola wine and then hitting the gift boutiques on grape-buzzed shopping sprees. Okay, it was me that spotted her, but someone had to help her with all that wine. And friends don't let friends shop alone.

She once went here and dropped her cell phone from the third story balcony of the hotel. It is unclear if wine was involved in the brutal slaying of cellular technology. In true Tiger Woods fashion, she denied 'rumors' but explained little. Well, until she had to, of course.

She recently became a MIL. Yes, I meant MIL, as in mother-in-law, and not MILF even though some may see her as such. If you don't know what MILF is, watch the movie American Pie 'cause I'm not gonna explain it here. This is a picture of her grandpuppers, Love and California.

She's had many, many songs written about her by the man who "rocks" her world. Not to mention the unforgettable, although I'm sure she's tried, Oh, God, How I Love My Cabernet written by yours truly. I tried to find a copy of it but couldn't. I'll keep looking because I'm sure she'd love to see it here. Wouldn't you?

She loves books, chocolate, Cabernet and her "kid."

Although she's a good wife, she kinda has a "thing" for Cal Ripken, Jr. and Bruce Springsteen. She acts younger than she does old and she's old enough to have fun. She's a member in good standing of the Birthday Club, a group of us dedicated to getting together to celebrate each members special day.

Happy Birthday, dear friend.
And call the fire marshall...there's about to be one towering inferno of a cake!

*Members of the Birthday Club, their family members (living or deceased), pets and Smart cars are ineligible for the Where's Friend Contest.