It was my 43rd birthday and Mandy was coming to my apartment. It was the middle of winter and she arrived plumped out in an overcoat and laden with packages. It had been several decades since my birthdays were "special" to me, but for her this was an event.
She could hardly wait to show me the birthday cake she had ordered, and as soon as her coat was off she opened up the box, telling me about picking it up at the bakery.
Mandy: "The bakery was crowded when I got there. When my number was called I went to the counter and the woman asked me to describe the cake. I told her it said 'Happy Birthday Honey Bunny,' and some of the other customers laughed. When she found the cake and brought it to the counter she asked, 'And how old is Honey Bunny?' When I said 43 everyone cracked up."
She put the packages on a table, lining them up in the order I was to open them. Then she looked around, walked over to her purse and opened it, and said, "Damn!"
Donnie: "What's wrong?"
Mandy: "I can't find your card. I know I had it when I got out of the car."
Donnie: "No problem. It's gotta be between the car and here. I'll go find it."
I grabbed a jacket and headed down to the parking lot. Although the outside door locked automatically, we had a security guard as we were located two blocks from Cabrini Green, a troubled area. When I reached the foyer the security guard, making his rounds, had just arrived there. He was big, perhaps six feet two inches tall and powerfully built. We helloed each other and I scanned the foyer floor but saw nothing.
Donnie: "Have you found an envelope that might contain a birthday card?"
Security Guard, in a Darth Vader voice: "Are you Honey Bunny?"