Fridays With Freddy
People send the biped things. I don’t know why, but the packages are always arriving, trundled up the stairs by sweaty men in brown uniforms that stumble backwards when I bark at them.
Yesterday though, the package had my name on it. And inside, was a cloud, pulled down from the skies, magically wrapped in the most delicious crinkly paper I’ve ever had the pleasure to shred and eat.
The card was signed “Anonymous,” and the message read as follows:
“Dear Freddy,
I understand your exact birthday is a matter of some mystery, but according to my calculations, you were most likely brought into this world sometime in February, one year ago. Please accept this gift as an early present, and an expression of my thanks for all your many musings. Now get a good nights sleep!”
Well Anonymous, let me just tell you that getting up and moving around is no longer as interesting as it was this time yesterday. I have for the last 24 hours, lain here in a near paralytic state, coddled by an ethereal softness, cradled like the puppy I once was, safe in the womb of the mother I never knew.
My food and drink are just a few feet away, and to be honest, I’d like a bit of both. But not if it means extracting myself from this pillow of heavenly comfort.
No – I am resolved to lie here until nature or something with arms lifts me up, and even then, I suspect I’ll object, given the preternatural bliss of my new and luxurious berth.
If this is what a birthday is, I am resolved to celebrate all month. Many, many, thanks – whoever you are.
Freddy