“If your Birthday is on Christmas day and you’re not Jesus, you should start telling people your birthday is on June 9 or something.”
– Ellen DeGeneres, Seriously… I’m Kidding

Fifty years ago this June 9th, I had the biggest birthday party I have ever had.  It was held in a hotel in Latham, there were about 150 guests, lots of presents, a sit-down chicken dinner and cake for dessert.  Of course, there were pitchers of beer on the table and two fountains, one with whisky sours and the other with Manhattans. Several toasts were made during dinner.  The temperature was 104 degrees in the shade and when my husband, John, and I arrived at the hotel, he wanted a beer.  He said a pitcher from one of the tables would be great.  The banquet manager would not give him one.  “I don’t want you drunk before your guests arrive.”  John was not happy.  He was however, very thirsty.  And hot in more ways than one.  That was the only thing that went wrong that day.  Everyone danced after we ate as a band played music.  It was a lovely affair.  There was even a photographer.  I have an album full of pictures to prove it.

After seeing the prompt for this week, I thought I did not have any birthday parties to write about, but then I remembered this one.  I guess it was because I remember it as my wedding reception.

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