Aunt Charlene was borned ( as they used to say back in my era aka back in the day ) November 25. She now lives in wintry Bulgaria. Belatedly, I sent her a warm happy birthday message. Via email.
Everyone likes to feel special on his/her birthday. My reason-unlike others-is not because I made it another year-whoopie da doo-but because most people are nice to you, more so than on the other 364 1/4 days. ( the one quarter being in observance of leap year ).
My aunt's birthday also made me recall that Keith, my old high school friend, and my cousin, Victor, who is a year and a month older than me, were both borned on November 30. 59 and 60 years old, repectively.
I hadn't talked to Keith in a long time; the last being when he called to inform me that Felton Bruce had passed away. Felton was a long time friend from high school, as well. And gifted because he could get drunk after having only one beer. He didn't have to bother downing a 6 pack to achieve the desired effect-one was a'plenty, and he didn't have to chose between great taste or less filling.
Me and Keith were best friends in high school and through our first two tumultuous years of college. But his dad got sick, and he had to drop out. And then he got married, and we all know how that changes things.
"Don't step on her veil, Harry," were the words Kitty, my future wife-to-be and the bridesmaid, uttered to me as I walked into the church for Keith and Becky's wedding. My gaffe was due to being smitten by Kitty's dark tan,lithe figure and beautiful face. I hadn't seen her in a while, so I was mesmerized. And the fact that I wore size 14 shoes* was the cause for alarm. No one wants a giant's shoe indelibly etched in one's wedding apparel.
Yeah, we were best of buds. Keith introduced me to many things: smoking Winstons; schooling me about cars requiring oil to survive( his Ford Fairline was always in need of a quart or two); drinking beers** and cherry vodka; and going to the Central Theatre in downtown Atlanta, which showed soft porn movies.
We were 16 years old, but patrons were supposed to be 18 or 21 to gain admittance. We were titillated to say the least, as our hormones-they were a'raging. I looked like I was 13-14 at the most. With pimples on my cheeks and forehead, and braces on my teeth, I had that fresh-scrubbed look of a very young teen.
"Can I help you?" asked the Central's cashier.
In my most masculine voice: "Yes, one ticket for 'A Muff in the Rough!'"
"How old are you?" she asked.
"I'm 21! Why, is there a problem?" I said trying to sound like Sean Connery.
It didn't help too that I wore glasses, the nerdy black ones that were fashionable during the mini-skirt and short-pegged trousers days. Wire-rimmed spectacles were on the horizon.
"No problem," she said."'Muff in the Rough' is almost over, but you're just in time for the second feature: 'Buffy and Muffy Get Scruffy.'"
I could never eat the popcorn at the Central-it just seemed too sleazy a place. And I never checked their health score; I was always too busy looking at the coming attraction posters.
Sometimes Bogus Bob, another lifelong friend, would go with me and Keith, but he didn't like the Central much. I always theorized that he was already getting some action up close and personal, the real McCoy. But he would eat the popcorn.
So happy birthday Aunt Charlene-don't eat any yellow snow. And happy birthday my boyhood chum, Keith. And happy birthday, Vic. All of whom were borned in November.
The end
* Size 15 now but age and weight has added an extra size. Oh my!
** Felton required only one beer.
* .
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