So, this is 40, and as much as aging is not what anyone really strives for, even as it inevitably happens, it ain’t bad.

M. managed to completely convince me that between cultural differences and the developing state of his personal economy, I should not expect much by way of birthday gifting. He left for work this morning smilingly staying true to that conviction.

Ahhh, well, philosophically, I was just glad to be on vacation and hanging out with him in California. No big deal, right?

Then, this afternoon, he presented not one, but three gifts, which each were actually multiple. If it were a 12 items or less line, I would have only just made it through. In his words, one gift was a joke, the second was for originality and the third was what I like. The joke was figurines of old people called “Coots,” “youth is wasted on the young,” etc., the originality were two shirts/blouses I could wear on stage and elsewhere that were unique and in my favorite color, black, and what I like was French soap and sachets and all, which I like very much.

Damn, the man sure has been paying attention.

Then, we had dinner at a Singapore restaurant with his company’s founder, who is from India. As they discussed the authenticity of the food and what not, I basked in my own white, American ignorance (by the way, white American makes me think of cheese). It was a great meal, which I enjoyed despite my ignorance.

Back at his place, his landlady opened some champagne. And, since she and I, unlike he and his housemates, have no enzyme deficiency affecting alcohol absorption, we absorbed the bottle.

So, truly, I have no reason to complain and a lot of reasons to be thankful. And, for M.’s attention, I have to admit, I’m baffled by the idea of someone wanting to make me happy. Baffled or not, I like it.

I do feel like a dick that I haven’t been able to think of or find a great gift for him, and actually only have with me something small. But, hell, I’m 40. I’ll make it up to him next decade, right?