Brian! B-money! How’ve you been buddy? Miss you, man! Saw it’s your birthday on Instagram, so I’m just shooting over a text to wish you a good one. Let’s catch up sometime soon—you down to grab a drink sometime in the next 30 to 35 years?
Just a loose plan. We can figure out the deets later.
Life’s been so hectic lately. This week I’ll be super busy with a project at work, next week I’ll be out of town, and the week after that I’ll probably have bird flu or something. My schedule should def get more flexible though after the conclusion of the next eight American presidential election cycles. Wanna shoot for then?
Damn, I was gonna say let’s do Wednesday, but I just remembered I have a dinner thing. It’s so hard to find a free night these days! Let’s just plan on linking up when babies born today are old enough that when they die, people won’t be especially sad about it.
There’s this sick bar by me I know you’ll love. Get this: they have Jenga that’s like, as tall as your head. Mind equals blown! Though by the time we hit it up in 400 calendar months, the bar will probably have closed down and been replaced by a vape shop, and then a Sweetgreen, and then a Starbucks Reserve, and then a Chase bank. Then, the Chase will be converted into a bank for a currency that does not yet exist. We can find somewhere else cool though!
Hey, maybe check your Gcal to see if you’ll be free on July 28, 2061. If you’d be down to chill then, we could coordinate around the predicted return of Haley’s Comet.
Wait, you started a new job last year, right? That’s amazing, bro! I gotta hear all about all that data you enter. When we finally get around to grabbing that drink in 30 to 35 years, I’ll also have to hear about whether you then get promoted after a couple years, get laid off during a global recession, find a new job in sports marketing that more aligns with your interests, rise the ranks at your firm, retire early, surprise even yourself by taking up a hobby in rug tufting, have too much to drink one night before using the tufting machine, accidentally cut off a couple fingers, and now your grandchildren call you “Papa Nubs.”
Who knows where life will take us! That’s why we gotta catch up, dude!
If none of those times work for you, I’ll sadly be busy for the remainder of the days until my death. Bummer! But, hey, lowkey, why don’t you and I just put a clause in our wills dictating that our children can only claim their inheritance on the condition that they grab a drink together and share the milestones of their deceased, totally swamped fathers. That way, they can just whisper the updates directly into our urns!
Lmk if that works for you! Stay well in the meantime!