I wished for my boyfriend, Mr. Foxypants, and he came true. No really. It happened.
No, I didn’t manifest him into being. It’s not like I’m Oprah or anything.
I’ve had a crush on Mr. Foxypants since the moment I met him five years ago. “You have the best eyebrows EVER!” I blurted out when we were introduced. His eyebrows have high, swashbuckle-y arches and curl up at the end like Snidely Whiplash’s mustache. They give him a distinctive, super-villain glamour. He is fun to look at. I gave him my best googley eyes. He returned my compliment with a blank stare. That’s when I noticed his wedding band.
As we’ve got plenty of mutual friends, I would to run into Mr. Foxypants several times a year at parties around town. Our conversations usually began with him busting me for checking him out when I thought he wasn’t looking. He was always funny, and charming and totally unavailable.
Flash forward to last year’s birthday. I was turning 37 and had been single for approximately 54 years. As I blew out the candles on my birthday blueberry cobbler a sad, lonely feeling swept through me. “I wish I had a boyfriend like Mr. Foxypants.” I know. Desperate and pathetic. An attractive combination.
Five days later I saw Mr. Foxypants at a party. His marriage had ended and he’d been single for several months. “I’ve been thinking about you.” He said. Nine days later he moved into my house.
The incarnate being in charge of birthday wish is bad ass! I should really only use this power for good.
Tonight, as I blew out the candle on my birthday cupcake, I wished for a boyfriend for my friend Penny and a safe pregnancy and delivery for my friend Carolyn.