“Happy birthday / Happy birthday, baby / Oh, I love you so”
— The Crests
Yay, Kevin is 23!!! That means that for nearly two whole months, I will be a mere two years older (numerically speaking) instead of the standard three years older. Then in February I turn 26 and I suppose we’ll return to the sweet cougar action to which we’ve grown so accustomed.
I took him out for a (belated) celebratory dinner at Alfredo’s Barbacoa in Cuzco. The boy has gone nearly 3 months without a decent burger, Friends. And that is a crying shame. An eagle-shedding-a-single-tear-in-front-of-the-American-flag-style crying shame.
We had crazy-rare burgers–I ordered medium rare, which came out red and juicy in the middle, and Kevin ordered rare, which was so un-cooked that the meat barely held together–plus fries, onion rings, coca-cola, and apple pie. Here’s a picture of me eating all that:
…and here’s a picture of me from two years ago, doing pretty much the same thing, in a Madrid McDonald’s:
I come to Spain and eat hamburgers. Deal with it.
But I digress–we were celebrating Kevin’s birthday! We finished the night by trying to get drunk at a nearby bar.
But we were too full to allow that much liquid into our bellies. So after one drink we called it quits, headed home on the metro and said goodnight.
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Happy birthday, Kevin. You deserve all of the good things.