Dear Australia,

Right now, over where you are, it’s Becky’s birthday.

If she had remained single up to this point, she would have “graduated” up to the family ward at church. You swept her up and saved her in the nick of time.

And, you took her from me. But hey, I can’t do anything about that. I wouldn’t have tried, seeing how abundantly happy she is.

You know what, though, Barry? I get to see her in a month.

I’ve been planning this for a long time, and with each passing day I get increasingly excited. I know you know what that’s like, because I’ve seen you count down the days when Becky would become a fixture in your life. I’m genuinely happy for you. I know you’re treating her well. I know she’s thriving and loving her new life and counting her blessings, even though she has to start numerous rounds on her fingers and toes to try keeping track.

When I think of Becky’s birthday, I think of my time with her in New York City. Movies and books and dinners and exploring the city with friends. And videos. And happy tears. Lots of laughter. True quality time. It was with that time I felt almost deceptive, because her presence was a far bigger gift than anything I could ever dream of giving to her.

It’s Becky’s birthday! Show her a great time, Barry. I know you’re making her as happy as she deserves to be. I know you’re more than capable of filling the next month with richness and bounty.

Then, I’d like a turn. If that’s okay.

I love you, Barry.

But, I loved Becky first.

Happy Birthday, girl.


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