I kind of suck at birthdays. I mean, I give good gifts now and then, but I’ve never excelled at doing the whole birthday celebration thing for my kids. I have grandious plans of getting up at the crotch of dawn and making big breakfasts, hanging home made banners, piling festive and color coordinated gifts at the foot of the birthday person’s bed, and partying hardy all day. But, the reality is, I am usually shopping for them on their birthday, apologizing, giving IOU cards, or just being lame. It isn’t because I don’t love my kids or because I don’t remember their birthdays, I just suck.

Today was my son’s 14th birthday. He is a super great kid. One of my favorites actually. We had a crazy (typical) day with me working, piano lessons, babysitting, registration at school, etc, etc, etc. It was a good day to go out for the birthday dinner. This particular son always chooses to go to the Chinese Buffet over yonder by my gym….ironic? It is really convenient, as most parents know, to eat at a buffet with kids. You get your food quick, everyone gets what they want, you can hate something and not get in trouble, and it isn’t too terribly expensive. All that being said, I hate this restaurant. I always feel like I am tempting fate when I eat there. I know deep in my heart that I will one day come home with food poisoning from this place. I almost want to rub the belly of the fat Buddha that sits inside the door when I walk in, just to be on the safe side. I don’t, mostly because those workers watch your every move, and also because Buddha looks like he has a bit too much sunscreen on….just saying.

Today was not the day for food poison apparently, unless it is the slow moving strand. It’s been two hours since my last tentative bite and I haven’t puked, or had the urge to, once. Well, not more than the usual urge from eating at the buffet. It isn’t so much because of the food usually, it is more from watching my dear, beloved children pull the legs off of raw shrimp after ‘walking’ them around their plates. That, and the puppetry using crab legs and claws is enough to really make the ol stomach churn. No shellfish for me please, can you say “sea bugs?”

But I digress.

After our meal, we all sat around and enjoyed the American imposed tradition of reading our fortune cookies. We are waiting for the day when we open a ‘fortune’ cookie and actually find a ‘fortune.’ So far, we have read advice, quotes from movies, song lyrics, and riddles. After reading our cookies, my kids thought we should just come up with our own fortunes and make cookies ourselves. What a great idea, you say. But no, the great happened when our twisted minds led us to the idea of writing ‘misfortune’ cookies. Here are some of our best cooperative efforts. Just imagine the faces of your loved ones when they open these gems. You’re welcome.

Today is not your day

You are being cheated on

Your friends pee their pants.

We had a meeting. We hate you.

Do not make friends with people that make you poop your pants.

You will regret this meal.

Your dog used your toothbrush.

You are about to gain a large amount of weight.

Get a life.

You stink.

You will be green with envy, or food poisoning.

You are going to hell.

(And my personal favorite)

That wasn’t chocolate.

 

I think we will market these for sure. What better way to end a questionable meal of strange flavors and shapes than with a ‘misfortune cookie.’  Don’t steal our idea now, unless you send me five bucks. Or a stage for our shell fish puppets….cause I said so.

 

 

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