For some inexplicable reason, on the day of my birth, thousands of Mexicans donned their traditional clothing and danced in the streets in celebration.
They have done so every year since.
Except, it seems, in Denver. They’re holding off the celebrations here until the weekend.
But that’s not the Mexicans’ fault. They don’t make the rules. They would be dancing in the streets of Denver today if they could. I know, because they do it on this day every year. Thousands of ’em, all over the place. Somewhere today–even if not in Denver–Mexicans will be dancing in the streets.
I don’t know why my birthday is such a big deal to the Mexicans. I’m Scottish.
But when life hands you some free lovin’, you don’t ask why. You just embrace it.
So a special thanks to all the Mexicans who make my birthday special every year. (Even thanks to the Denver Mexicans who would be dancing today if they could.)
(And my profound apologies to all of you who don’t enjoy the luxury of having Mexicans dance on your birthday. May you never feel the loss.)
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