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I have already been married once. I weathered a divorce and don’t intend to get married again (unless someone I can tolerate has great health insurance). I also won’t be having children. This means there are no gift registries in my future.
No socially acceptable ones, anyway.
But is that going to stop me? No. If you’re reading this on August 7, it’s my birthday. And here’s a list of mostly reasonable things you can give me, whether you are a friend or family member, someone I’ve dated or am currently dating, some sort of deity, or simply a person committed to a slightly better world.
I’d like a good lobster roll—touch of lemon; toasted, buttered bread.
I’d like elevators and wheelchair-accessible boarding in a majority of SEPTA transit stations.
I’d like all home co-inhabitants everywhere to realize that washing a large bowl by hand is infinitely better than taking up half the dishwasher with it just because you don’t feel like washing it and putting it in the drying rack.
I’d like to completely escape criticism (even if it’s subtle or implied) for leaving large bowls by the sink for a day or two after cooking, because I didn’t feel like washing them yet.
I’d like $10 for every hour I’ve spent on the phone in the process of accessing healthcare since 2006.
I’d like a frosty Kenzinger with a cheeseburger and fries at Fountain Porter.
I’d like the biker gangs who blast up East Passyunk Avenue at midnight to be pelted with fresh-melted Wiz wit.
I’d like the guy who ghosted me after introducing me to his dog to personally recognize the injustice he perpetrated and spend at least one evening in silent, genuinely painful reflection. And then continue to leave me alone so I can live my best life.
I’d like to sit by the water, preferably somewhere I can see families in paddleboats, so I can reflect on how glad I am not to be wearing a rancid, sweaty life-jacket in a paddleboat and how wonderful it is that I could choose to be child-free.
I’d like the Streets Department to repair the three-foot hole on the next block and repurpose the wooden boards someone laid in there, because they’re certainly not doing any good right now.
I’d like Pho 75 on Washington to extend its evening hours.
I’d like everyone who enjoys reading BSR and values arts journalism to become a Friend of BSR. The Friends club starts at an automated $15 donation four times a year. Do it now and write this elder millennial a birthday wish.
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