The Greatest Gift Of All

Dear Adam,

Today is your birthday. Apparently, you’re basically 40. That’s a pretty big deal.

Since you’re a pretty good boss, my “blog husband” and one of my very best girlfriends, I wanted to celebrate this day with the perfect gift.

As any good blogger and internet savvy friend will do, I started with your Amazon wish list. Unfortunately, everything on that list was dumb. A Leatherman 830039 New Wave Multitool with Leather Sheath? Really? I think maybe you don’t know what that is. That’s a tool. For people who do small manual labor tasks.

I’m not buying your handyman a birthday present.

The Amazon wish list was obviously out.

No big deal. I figured, I knew you well enough that I could purchase you a gift without the use of a gift. After all, that worked out so well for you on my birthday. (cough*footbathIalreadyownandneveruse*cough)

As I shopped around Savannah and Charleston this weekend, I kept your birthday in mind.

This probably wouldn’t have been a good color on you, anyway.

Remember how I told you I thought you’d wear a man bag? I found the perfect thing. It’s brown and orange – manly colors – and soft as a new born baby cow. It has lots of pockets for you to hold all of your manly things, like your iphone and your unisex sunglasses. It would have been the perfect murse for you!

But, it looked so stunning on me, I couldn’t bear to part with it. Sorry.


I thought you would think this was hysterical. I imagined you wearing it to the next political event I dragged you too, giggling wildly to yourself about irony and satire and liberal white guilt.

Unfortunately, I had to pee when we got to this little gift shop and by the time I came back out of the restroom I’d forgotten about it. The good news is, I washed my hands.

Before I knew it, it was Sunday. We were getting ready to head back home, your birthday was looming on the horizon, and I hadn’t found a single gift for you. I thought of all the times you’d gone out of your way to make a day special for me, or taken care of me when I was losing my mind, or driven an hour outside of your way to make sure I didn’t have to drink and drive – and I knew I couldn’t let this birthday pass without giving you something to commemorate it.

And then I saw it. The perfect gift.

I was standing in a William Sonoma, clutching the overpriced and yet oh so wonderful chopping machine I was getting ready to buy myself. And there, on a shelf just below normal person’s eye level, was the exact thing I had been looking for.


I figured anyone who would eat Bacon Salt should have this. It was perfect! Thoughtful, personalized – the ideal gift for you!

And then I remembered that your wife is allergic to pork.


I came home. Dejected. Disheartened. Disappointed that I wouldn’t be able to give you anything special on this special day. I didn’t even have time to write a post before I went to bed because I was just too damn tired.

I felt like a complete failure as a friend.

And then I woke up this morning

and discovered I’d lost my voice.

Happy Birthday, you lucky bastard.

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