Today is my dear mother's 46th birthday. I slept in to my leisure this morning, awoke, and sent her a text reading "HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR MOMMY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!" I had mailed her birthday present early, so with the gift and my birthday text I felt pretty proud of myself. I'm a damn good son, aren't I?
Soon my phone buzzed quietly on the table, and I read her response: "You're the only one who hasn't called me." It was like a pin had deflated my giant balloon head. I quickly found her in my contacts list and hit send. The recorded message warning solicitors to hang up greeted me before my mother did. "Why hello, Birthday Girl," I said cheerily.
"You know," she began, "you're brother actually sang the birthday song to me on the phone. He didn't text it. He SANG it." Now a semi truck was running over my deflated balloon head. Over and over. Without ceasing.