This is an extra special post for an extra special guy. Today is my husband Warner’s birthday. And I’d like to take a moment to welcome him to a club that I have been a member of for a little over two years – the “F” club. As a member of the “F” club you are entitled to an unlimited supply of joints, uh, I mean achy joints, although the other kind would probably ease some of the pain of being inducted as a member.
As an “F” club member you can look forward to other benefits such as the distinguished graying hair of a true gentleman, never being asked for your id when you purchase grown-up “juice”, the ability to rise slowly and with great drama from circle time at your child’s school, thus forcing the hot, young teachers to ask if they can help you sir, the pleasure of being your own percussion section as your bones creak and your joints pop in rhythm with your stride.
Yes, these and more await you in the “F” club. A few exclusive members, like myself, have even received the highest honor – the title of Weatherbone.
So Warner, I hereby declare you an official member of the “F” club. Happy birthday, Mister Man…I’ve been waiting for you.