On some real levels right now… can you believe this ish? You’re 30 years old today. Like, ten years from forty. Like, almost middle aged. Like, ‘get stuck in the current fashion trend forever’ old.
We’ve been at this thing for eleven years now… grew up together. And in that time, we’ve been, well, through the fire, to the limit, to the wall, lol! The good, the bad… the best, the terrible awful and everything in between. But still we’ve managed to work through, we’ve communicated, listened, empathized, and kept our priorities in check. You were then and still are my best friend, my biggest supporter and the man that makes me laugh ’til I pee a little.
Now, I was pretty dope when you met me, but today, I must admit, I’m more outgoing, I’m bolder, and because of your propensity to talk politics all day which keeps me from enjoying my Spongebob marathons makes me sharper too. But I’ve taught you a thing or two as well, including your ability to change a ‘smooshy’ diaper without getting any on your thumb!
Now that you’ve reached this major milestone in your life, I’d like to take this opportunity to
apologize thank you for putting up with these wonderful habits of mine over the years:
- The way I don’t tighten the lids on juice containers (ain’t nobody got time for that!), which you later retrieve from the fridge, shake, and then must clean up off the floor and cracks and crevices in the fridge.
- The way I leave that last load of clothes (usually your whites) in the washing machine ’til they mildew and have to wash them again. Or better yet, the way I leave that same load of clothes in the dryer for days on end so that it then becomes an extension of your sock drawer.
- At restaurants, ordering what I want and requesting that you order what I almost wanted so that I may pick off of your plate as well
- The way I ask you what you want to do when I already know what I want to do
- The way my ‘every dish must be clean’ OCD makes me throw away ish before you’re done with it, or clear your plate or empty your cup before you’re finished with it.
I think date night proved more than anything, not only how old we are, but how much in love we still are. After an impromptu dinner at what is clearly gonna be our new spot, we sat over drinks deciding whether or not to see a movie. And after simultaneously confessing that we’d more than likely fall asleep in the theater, we both, at the same damn time, tried to remember if you’d need a ticket to gain access to the concession stand. Why? Because we wanted nachos… we wanted those salty, cheesy, delicious ass nachos with jalapenos on the side more than we cared to see a movie. But then we remembered that they’re best enjoyed fresh, and that the need to stop at Redbox and drive home prior to consumption would leave us with a pretty whack nacho experience. So, we simply went home. At 9pm. We went home, like two old folks and cut on Netflix. And rejoiced in the fact that due to our recent ‘Black movie marathon nights’, we earned that elusive ‘more Black movies like that last one you watched’ category to choose from related titles. Then we cuddled, and you kept pouring wine in my glass in what I’m sure was an attempt to take advantage of me. It was surreal… just being alone, together, in peace – without Hurricane Boogie, like how it used to be… that was so nice.
Your 30 year old self is just as handsome, sexy, fun and spontaneous as your 19 year old self. Thank you for sharing your life with me. Thanks for giving me Boogie. I know we have absolutely nothing planned today (perhaps a Workaholics marathon?), but I promise we’ll celebrate soon!
Happy birthday Dr. Walton!