I had a birthday last week - the 65th anniversary of my emergence. No big bash, no bells or whistles - but we did have a very small dinner for nine the day after. That's when it happened.
Everyone was suitably filled and saturated by the time they brought out the cake. The search was on for a few candles, not 65 or 66. Just three. That was followed, of course, by a somewhat more frenetic search for matches. Success. The candles are lit, and the unfortunate singing has been completed.
That's when it happened - time to blow out the candles. Mind you, I wasn't optimistic. I am in chronic respiratory failure so there isn't a lot of breath with which to blow. I tried once. Nope. I tried twice. Nope. Third time's a charm, right? Nope.
I called a fourth-grader over to help out. One puff and they're out. At least for a moment as they now begin to relight themselves. Em was determined though, and she blew them out again. Same thing. Again. Same thing.
That's when it became obvious that in the candle search haste my wife had unwittingly grabbed a few of those candles that aren't extinguishable by the usual methods. Sure! - make fun of the handicapped. Let's find a guy who is on supplemental oxygen 24/7 and give him some candles to blow out that can't be blown out. Ha, ha, ha!
When I pointed out the delicious irony, everyone laughed - but somewhat nervously. On the other hand, I actually DID think it was funny, and if nothing else, I have something with which to tease and a story to tell. I'm just the kind of guy who would do this to someone whom I knew would react as I did.
Life is good.
TGB
