Do we all look that much alike?

Thursday night is always a fool, a tomfool to be specific. See, a couple of my old co-workers from a friendly neighborhood paper have started this tradition where every Thursday night we go to one of my favorite bars in Kansas City, Tomfooleries.

It's my favorite bar because I met Mark McGwire there a year after he broke the home run record (also a few years before everyone started to believe he was on roids). I was an innocent 19-year-old, and I thought that bar was the coolest place in the city. I vowed to return there often sans my mother when I came of age.

Anyway, last night turned out to be a little pre-birthday (It's on Saturday) bash of sorts. In all about 10 people I'm really close to or cool with came out to partake in our weekly tradition.

One of my friends told the waiter that it was my birthday, and at the Fool, they do things differently. They don't come and sing to you and bring you a nice dessert.

No. Your waitperson brings you a Twinkie with a sparkler in it.

So as I turned and saw the sparkler, I knew what it was. After all, I'd experienced this from the "it's somebody else's b-day" perspective a few times.

I knew the Twinkie was headed for me. But no. Somehow the waiter decided the only other black guy, we'll call him Perez, at the table was the "birthday guy," even though my friend clearly stated that it was me (not to mention when she told the waiter about my birthday Perez wasn't even at the bar yet).

I immediately put my head on one of my friends shoulders and started bugging up. The waiter finally realized his mistake and hastily moved the Twinkie, the sparkle halfway fizzled out in front of me.

As I laughed the ignorance off, all I could think to myself was "damn, they really do think we all look alike."