Sad Birthday to You! (sung to the tune of Happy Birthday)

I keep in mind a lot of people’s birthdays:  My parents, my siblings, my kids, my close friends, some more distant relatives, and

“-” ‘s.  I can’t help it.

Yes, it’s his birthday.  He’s 50-fucking-5.  His wife is 38 or 39.  As you can see, I find myself VERY BUSY actively, exhaustingly, not-caring-at-all about his birthday.

It doesn’t bother me, and has not been bothering me, since about 4 am.  Four am YESTERDAY, that is.  I’m such an obsessed, unforgiving bitch, that I’d like to make it up to the Universe, by stating that for his birthday, I wish that:

His kids forget;

His wife gets the wrong kind of pie and the wrong gift;

He has an annoying phone call with his mother;

He has an accident on his commute; and

He dies.

Oops!  Wait, that took a horrible turn.  But, I seem to be unable to turn it around, so Karma will have to have her way with me.  Maybe for next year I can work up to not wishing him dead, just the accident on the commute thing, and the things above that.  It’s good to have goals.




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