Birthday...and other stuff

Durf's birthday is always an excellent day, but by the time we left for the fabulous b'day dinner, I was all riled up over the Tour de France. And now the secret is out. We're addicted. Just before dinner, we watched Contador take advantage of Schleck's mechanical problems, so Durf and I argued all the way to the Hudson River about whether or not Contador's move was kosher. Feel free to express your own opinion, as long as you agree with me. (Certainly you know my position.)

We were so engaged in our debate that we hardly noticed the rain until we arrived at the restaurant and realized there was a full gale in progress outside the car. We jumped out with our umbrellas and ran toward the building. Durf's umbrella immediately turned inside out, but I had just purchased a cool windproof device that would have worked great if the rain had been coming straight down as rain is supposed to do. But this is not normal rain, this is New York rain, so when we entered the building, my feet were soaked. Nonetheless, I figured I could still enjoy dinner with wet feet. Problem is, we were in the wrong building. We spent the next ten minutes running through the storm into and out of wrong doors. By the time we found the right door, I was a drowned rat and grumpy as hell. I turned to Durf, who was also a drowned rat, but he had this big grin on his face. "What a great birthday," he said. Sounds just like him, doesn't it?