I was invited to Brian’s birthday party.
I didn’t even know Brian. And, I’d only know Tom, the guy that invited me, for a matter of minutes before I received the invite. And when strangers invite you to birthday celebrations, a red flag goes up with the alert message announcing loud and clear: this guy doesn’t have any friends; STEER CLEAR.
That said, I didn’t plan on making the party.
It’s hard to work with two little pups wrestling at your feet—one of the very few downsides to working from home (if you can even call the ability to take a break and go for a walk at anytime a downside.) So with a quick swoop of the sunglasses and latch of the leashes, Bella, Pippa and I were off to the big hill behind our house, where all three of us could release some pent-up energy amongst the birds, grass and sunny skies.
Along the way, we passed a park where people were waving in our direction. Brian’s birthday party. I had forgotten, and now it looked like we were coming to the party. I thought about it, but decided we couldn’t just walk past the fiesta. We’re new to the area, and while I don’t plan on sticking around long, I don’t want to soil the family’s rep up here.
We entered the park. Even Bella and Pippa were hesitant. (Who can blame them for preferring the open Aptos beaches to a fenced patch of grass?)
Anyway, the party was set up nicely with balloon bouquets, sweet treats, bottles of wine, finger sandwiches and more. Friends brought gifts. Cameras flashed and birthday greetings sing-songed around the park.
Tom approached to say hello and distinguished the birthday boy from the rest of the crowd for me. I probably could have figured out that the guy wearing the special scarf was the man of the hour if it weren’t for Brian’s friend Matt, who was the only one wearing a party hat. I believe Matt is what Monica Geller calls a “thunder stealer.”
I wished Brian a happy birthday as he came closer. But he was very much wrapped up in the birthday excitement. I understood. His friends had started a wrestling match in the middle of the park. I had to give 'em credit: they were all pretty laid back, silly and good looking, but I was still wary of the possibility of friendship.
You see, Brian is a dog—a thirty-pound beagle with long ears and a deep howl that he employs when he’s not getting enough attention. His party was at the local dog park, and I was invited by my dear friend Tom, a seventy-something year old man who wants to welcome me to the dog park community.
Oh, the thrills of suburbia.
