Historically, Ryan has not been one to particularly enjoy his birthday. He thinks cake is bad tasting, parties are frivolous (in a bad way), and that special occasions for no reason (like his existence, for example) are ridiculous.
But he married me, and when it comes to birthdays, I am a serious believer (see here). So we compromised and had a Ryan-style celebration. We watched Season 1 Disc 2 of The Apprentice (you can add Netflix to my list of excuses for not blogging), we went to the Symphony, we went out to dinner. We ate cream puffs for breakfast. I showered him with brown paper packages tied up with string, his family called to wish a happy birthday from London, he opened all the cards he received in the mail, a few old friends remembered and called. But I think his favorite part of the day was this moment:
Just a day or two before Ryan Appreciation Day, he mentioned that he wished he could get this shirt, advertised as a gift with purchase of a six month subscription to The Economist. My mother, whose abilities to deliver know no bounds, managed to have that sucker on our doorstep by Ryan Appreciation Day Eve. Ryan wanted to know how it had been accomplished, but I said, no way, not telling, nothin' doin'. That would spoil the Birthday Magic, and we wouldn't want that, now would we? WE LOVE BIRTHDAY MAGIC AROUND HERE, DON'T WE?
I am a lucky one to have charmed this fellow into spending the rest of his days by the side of a well-intentioned lunatic. We are similar in enough ways that we can relate and different in enough ways that we can learn from each other (read: he can learn to manage life with a well-intentioned lunatic and I can learn about the stock market). We are best friends and I wouldn't have things any other way than how they are. I feel like I shouldn't wax on, but, I gotta say, something about May 15 every year just makes me want to Appreciate Ryan.