Every now and then I find a nice piece of writing among my stuff. This was one I wrote for my friend and massage therapist extraordinaire Jim upon the occasion of his 50th birthday. I had a present for him, I had it wrapped, and I couldn't find it, so I wrote this list for him. (I found the gift before the party — it was in the trunk of my car! — but I read the list to him anyway.)
Why I Don’t Have the Birthday Present I’d Gotten for You
The dog ate it.
The dog buried it.
I put it away where it belonged, but I have no idea where that is.
Two words: Alien Kleptomaniacs
The tooth fairy came by and, failing to find any teeth under the pillow, she took your present.
We’re using it to prop up one corner of the house.
Santa’s reindeer needed a last-minute snack.
Homeland Security flushed it down a toilet.
I think we used it on those door-to-door evangelists (you know – to beat them senseless).
Colonel Sanders thought it contained his secret recipe, so he sent his spies to get it when we weren’t looking.
Someone said that if you throw it just right it will come back to you. I tried that but it hasn’t come back yet. Maybe it’s taking the scenic route.
It spontaneously burst into flame when I put it next to a Stephen King novel.
Um…. check my blog. It might be there.
The National Enquirer offered me $100,000 for it, but I refused. Then they took it from me anyway.
It’s with all of odd socks and gloves that get sucked up in the washing machine.
Angelina Jolie adopted it.
Paris Hilton took it with her to make her jail time pass smoothly.
I think it got sealed in with my in-laws’ ashes. I’ll let you know where you can go and visit it.
Cap’n Jack Sparrow said it was part of his treasure, so he confiscated it. (Hey, I was at knife-point, man!)
It might be in the Ronald Reagan National Library, but I don’t exactly recall where.
I needed it to patch a flat tire.
We were bench-pressing it at the gym and things got a little out of hand.
OK, you know how someone says, “When you wish upon a star…”? Well I wished I knew where it was, but nothing has come of it. Must be the wrong star.
The cats used it in protest of a dirty litter box.
I’ve found it to be really good for massaging that funny little space under my butt – but then it broke.
See that burger on your plate? I’ll bet that’s it. I don’t care if Ed is saying that it’s lamb. I know better.
I still haven’t had that rendezvous with Deep Throat. I’ll get it then. Probably later this week. It’s a little unpredictable.
My mom has been using it to clean her dentures. It’s kind of ragged right now.
The cleaners lost it.
Martha Stewart said it wasn’t wrapped properly. She’s making the paper for it right now, and then she’s growing the flowers that will adorn the top of the box.
I think it’s in the mail.
Maybe we packed it up with some of Ed’s mom’s stuff.
I can’t tell you – it’s covered by the National Secrets Act.
AARP is lobbying against it.
The ACLU is lobbying for it.
The Supreme Court isn’t in session yet.
It was good karma but bad dogma.
The priest had to bless it. Then it got soaked with holy water. The incense didn’t do it any good either.
It checked into rehab.
It has a 12-step meeting tonight.
Um…. I haven’t checked with its parole officer lately, so maybe that’s not a good sign.
It’s getting Botox injections. It’ll be good when the swelling goes down.
The paparazzi chased it into a tunnel in Paris. No one has seen it since, although there is a popular theory of a mafia hit and cover-up.
If you just fill out all of the proper forms and show your Medicare certificate, I’m sure we can get right on it.
Are you sure it’s your birthday today? I’m just sayin’ . . .
Harry Potter’s owl flew off with it.
I think I cleaned the house so well that I can’t find it. Which just goes to show it’s no use cleaning house.
Maybe it’s in the closet.
Look, when I’m done with it, I’ll send it to you, OK?