All this talk about birthdays has me remembering a couple years ago when the family took me to Texas Roadhouse for my birthday. I love this place, and they’d just opened up in Kingston. We presented a free appetizer birthday couple and one thing led to another. Ultimately, I had to ride the birthday bull.  don’t know if that’s what they call the thing, but I like how it sounds so I’m going to call it that: Birthday Bull. (Now it’s a proper noun…who says there’s no such thing as evolution.)

Anyway, the bull is a sawhorse of sorts with a big saddle on it. And judging by some of the other victims…I mean birthday revelers… I have seen over the years, it is now surely sticky and half-price margarita encrusted with a thick layer of margi-salt and peanut dust. Still, it was fun. I sat on the saddle with burning cheeks and the whole staff yee-hawed for me.

In retrospect, though, it would have been cooler if the thing had a motor. Or maybe a little track and a mini cow like that calf-roping practice machine on Pawn Stars. Then I could load up on hgh supplements and protein powder shakes and rock that buckin’ bronco till the cows come home. Or until the calf gets roped. Really, either would be fine with me.