Bygone birthday

Vic didn't recall how many times he'd smacked his snooze alarm that morning, but he'd eventually rolled out of bed at around 9 a.m. to enjoy his first present: a day off. He wasn't one to skip his morning routine, workday or no, so he'd showered and shaved, then dressed in khakis and a tan polo shirt. He'd smiled as he caught his reflection in the hall mirror. On any given workday, that reflection would be wearing a dress shirt and pants accompanied by a solid color tie and black shoes, and his light brown hair would be somewhat more orderly.

He'd jumped on his Batch Fitness Bike and taken a leisurely ride over to Marty's Diner, a cardio-challenging ride already on his schedule for later on. Vic didn't visit Marty's often, as they were a bit pricey, but it was his birthday and their Santa Fe omelet appeared to have a direct line to his stomach, so that was that. He'd been somewhat surprised to find the place so busy, even if it did share a parking lot with one of those Member Rewards-type hotel places. Looking around, though, he'd seen that most of the adults unaccompanied by kids were clearly past normal retirement age and, judging by the number of endearments exchanged between the waitstaff and the customers, many of them were regulars.

Three cups of house blend coffee later—one to quench the omelet's jalapeño fire, one to wash down the black beans and hashbrowns, and one to just savor—he'd taken the long way home, allowing himself two laps each around the park and the lake to work off some of the calories as well as get him into exercise mode. At home, he'd changed into a light t-shirt and biking shorts, then pushed himself for about twenty miles along a course the local community college had set up. Showered and changed, he'd picked up one of the westerns he never seemed to have time to read and got lost on a trail drive to Abilene.

The westering sun had finally dropped below the edge of his window shade when he'd decided that dinner time had arrived. Maintaining the day's Southwest motif, he'd called Big Time Burrito and ordered the Mole Chicken Burrito dinner for delivery. When queried about dessert, he'd agreed that their dessert special, a 3" x 3" x 2" fudge brownie in a pan, sounded fantastic. When the food arrived, Vic decided to dine al fresco, so he could watch the few clouds over the mountains slide through the best parts of Nature's color palette.

He'd wiped the last of the guacamole off the plate with the tortilla and was eyeing the brownie—and wondering just how much of it he still had room for—when the doorbell rang. It had been Bill from next door, asking if Vic had heard about the latest HOA proposal regarding lawn care requirements. The conversation hadn't lasted long, as neither man was in favor of additional restrictions and the Resident's Meeting was still a month away. They'd said their goodbyes and Vic had made his way back through the house. When he'd reached the screen door, though, he'd stopped dead in his tracks.

His little picnic table had become a battlefield between a couple of squirrels and a crow, with each critter trying to grab more than it already had, as well as preventing the others from escaping with anything at all. Loud yells and a quick charge by an indignant Vic had put the combatants to flight, but the damage had been done.

Vic had viewed the carnage and sighed. As birthdays go it had been a good one and dinner had been great, but it looked like dessert had achieved 'raincheck' status. Ah, well.

[WC: 676]

Author's Note ▼

This is not the story I started to write for this contest. That one was darker than a windowless basement with the lights off, so I put my Muse in time-out (think Pedro to Jobu in Major League, only cleaner) and channeled my inner...me.