Happy Birthday, Lori!
Let me be the first of your many husbands, both real and mythological (and the only one who dabbles in both), to say this to you via social media. Ah, these richly complex technological relationships we lead. How could I accurately share my love for you without the use of emojis or emoticons or italicized text? That question is as good as it is rhetorical. Only the best for my sweetie on her big day.
You may rightfully be wondering how big and, if you are, then I've achieved my first goal of making this day a day full of wonderment for you before, unfortunately, having you crash back down to the reality that I wasn't able to actually increase the size of your day. A health dose or smack of reality is the second layer of my gift for you. In case you are confused, your gift is not an onion, or at least not solely an onion.
You may rightfully be wondering how big and, if you are, then I've achieved my first goal of making this day a day full of wonderment for you before, unfortunately, having you crash back down to the reality that I wasn't able to actually increase the size of your day. A health dose or smack of reality is the second layer of my gift for you. In case you are confused, your gift is not an onion, or at least not solely an onion.
This is the beginning of such a special year for you and it is starting right now! "Why is it special?" you may ask with chapped lips. Well, to start, fewer chapped lips. I'd also answer that question with a series of monosyllabic grunts and utterances that I believe were an ancient mating call among hunters and gatherers right before they decided to take up farming and domesticating wild dogs. Interestingly, I almost got you a farm got your birthday present until I fully realized how much dirt was involved. Seeing as it is the thought that counts, I'm glad I saved the money.
As hard as it is to imagine, there was a time before you. Yes, some years ago you didn't exist. Wars were fought, stocks were traded, leg warmers were knit and particularly hairy men were mistaken for bears. Those days were often bleak and foggy with an ever present aroma of freshly baked pie. And then you were born. Fast forward, fast forward, fast forward and here we are. It's like I have a degree in history from a reputable university that is gathering dust in my parent's basement.
This day commemorates the day you were born and I had planned a hyper-realistic birth re-enactment this evening. And allow me to take a minute to get up on my soap box (that was just gathering dust in my parent's basement - that place is literally teeming with dusty degrees and soap boxes) to say how disappointed I am with the lack of realism in other surprise birthday birth re-enactments these days. It is disgusting and insulting. Anyways, I had spent hours and hours recreating the operating room down to the most minute detail as well as rehearsing the entire thing ad nauseum for the past few weeks only having to ditch the idea due to the obscene cost of fake blood these days. It's a travesty.
This day commemorates the day you were born and I had planned a hyper-realistic birth re-enactment this evening. And allow me to take a minute to get up on my soap box (that was just gathering dust in my parent's basement - that place is literally teeming with dusty degrees and soap boxes) to say how disappointed I am with the lack of realism in other surprise birthday birth re-enactments these days. It is disgusting and insulting. Anyways, I had spent hours and hours recreating the operating room down to the most minute detail as well as rehearsing the entire thing ad nauseum for the past few weeks only having to ditch the idea due to the obscene cost of fake blood these days. It's a travesty.
The day I met you will always hold a special place in my heart - I think it's located in the right valve although that could just be a particularly rambunctious collection of platelets. I sometimes wonder if divine forces brought us together or if it was pure luck or excessive use of duct tape. I just don't know why it can't be all the above for a change and why I feel compelled to choose? There are so many amazing things that have happened since we've met: the kids, all of the miming, the Hawaii trip, that lint brush as well as the huge amount of lint I never could have created on my own and the kissing. How could I ever forget the kissing? Amnesia, perhaps?
Regardless of the numbers of your age or their correct place value or the font size, in my eyes, you are still a young woman full of near lethal amounts of pep and high-quality, freshly-brewed coffee. You are as dangerously attractive and mockingly tall as you were the day I met you. Before we met, I never thought that I'd be spending my life co-existing with a human female, let alone one who is considered the Michael Jordan of converting oxygen to carbon dioxide, and yet here we are.
To say you literally complete me would be an exercise way to time consuming to prove on any level accepted by even the lowliest of academic journals. Just face it, we are like two positively charged ions who have decided to eschew the way ions are traditionally "supposed" to interact. As cliched as it sounds, I see us like a piece of protoplasm and whatever that protoplasm sees as good husband-material. For the record, I have no idea what protoplasm actually is, and don't really care, but I go to bed each evening rest assured that you could explain it to me if I cared, which, to be clear, I don't.
You spend your days doing the yeoman's (why aren't there more yeowoman?) work of teaching the leaders of tomorrow about the wonders of chemicals, I mean chemistry, and why adding numbers is infinitely more enjoyable than subtracting, which, as we all know, is for losers. You then return home like you own the place, conveniently forgetting about our astronomical mortgage. You are so cute how you conveniently forget astronomical numbers with or without dollar and minus signs before them.
You are such an amazing person and have the rest of us constantly on edge what with your level of amazement and all. From the moment you wake each morning and put your glasses on one arm at a time, to the moment you put your shirt on, coincidentally also one arm at a time, it would be easy to fall into the trap, based on this small sample size, of believing that you only perform certain tasks that involve arms in someway. I know you so well and that, in a pinch, you are ready and willing to use your legs when and if needed.
The first reviews of your birthday are in and the critics have spoken. They are calling this the birthday "ahead of it's time" and "not to be missed" and "a stunning display of modern film making that is a must see for the whole family". They are lauding you for your dynamic acting ability particularly focussing on your ability to eye roll at your husband in one instance, laugh with your kids in the next and then sing beautiful songs in the moonlight while brushing your teeth in another. You are a veritable triple threat!
I must bring this happy birthday wish to an end (I have to save some of my material for next year and in case this Facebook message gets optioned for a movie). You and I both know that I could just go on and on all day and I almost feel like I need to prove that, but I am fighting this urge as I type. Socially acceptable fighting! I also know that by now I've lost at least 75% of my initial audience and, with them gone, any chance at mass appeal and free shirts, but I only want you. I am tempted to say the rest of your present is in the mail, but I don't want to make you confused and think the present is in the male, being me. I repeat, the present is not inside me and now is not the time to use your new set of Exacto knives!
In closing, I love you. You make me so happy each and every day. You are a beacon of light around here even after I've cleared my throat numerous times while not-so-subtly pointing at our electricity bill. You are the mother of our children and the de facto mother of our gerbils. I have also asked numerous times, solely for simplicity's sake, if I could also call you "mother" to which you kept on sleeping as you are always asleep at those times. But you are my wife, who I plan to cook dinner for each and every non-sushi night for the rest of your life. And no, that is not meant to sound as ominous and threatening as it comes across. It is meant to sound a little ominous and threatening, just not that much.
Happy birthday, Lori!
your loving husband (and future biographer if all goes well)
Tommy
I must bring this happy birthday wish to an end (I have to save some of my material for next year and in case this Facebook message gets optioned for a movie). You and I both know that I could just go on and on all day and I almost feel like I need to prove that, but I am fighting this urge as I type. Socially acceptable fighting! I also know that by now I've lost at least 75% of my initial audience and, with them gone, any chance at mass appeal and free shirts, but I only want you. I am tempted to say the rest of your present is in the mail, but I don't want to make you confused and think the present is in the male, being me. I repeat, the present is not inside me and now is not the time to use your new set of Exacto knives!
In closing, I love you. You make me so happy each and every day. You are a beacon of light around here even after I've cleared my throat numerous times while not-so-subtly pointing at our electricity bill. You are the mother of our children and the de facto mother of our gerbils. I have also asked numerous times, solely for simplicity's sake, if I could also call you "mother" to which you kept on sleeping as you are always asleep at those times. But you are my wife, who I plan to cook dinner for each and every non-sushi night for the rest of your life. And no, that is not meant to sound as ominous and threatening as it comes across. It is meant to sound a little ominous and threatening, just not that much.
Happy birthday, Lori!
your loving husband (and future biographer if all goes well)
Tommy
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