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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/sheskrafty on 2024-09-19 03:53:10+00:00.

I was scared Betty thought I forgot. My greatest fear isn’t shark attack, burning to death in a fire, being gut shot, kidnapped, strangled, buried alive, black-widowed, waterboarded, axed, chain-sawed or even put in solitary confinement. My greatest fear is something might go wrong and spoil me and Betty’s special day together.

The skinny little pink and white barber’s pole candles were getting expensive. And each year there was one more required. Some might say I could just switch to the numbered ones. But they probably don’t love their Betty buttercups the way I do, no siree, Bob, thank you very much.

This is tradition in our home. Tradition is what matters. Tradition is civilization itself.

I put in an extra candle for good luck. Straightening up to admire my work I couldn’t resist a smile. Yes, they were all birthday candles ought to be. So complimentary of the shining blue piping gel. Each letter looked so tasty tumbling into a cursive gush which read, “Happy Birthday Betty Buttercup!”

Ah yes, tradition. We had now been celebrating Betty’s birthday exactly the same way for more than 20 years, just about all of them right here in this lovely kitchen with its marble floors and counters. Where does the time go? Betty had no answer and neither did I. What I did have, however, was a box of wooden kitchen matches. I had to use three of them to get all forty-one candles lit.

The shimmering candlelight illuminating Betty’s lips was simply irresistible. I kissed them.

“Don’t worry, Betts. Forty is the new thirty. We’ve still got boatloads of Betty Buttercup birthdays to celebrate together, just the two of us. What? What’s that?”

Betty was always a low talker. But it had gotten more pronounced since we’d moved to this house. I leaned my head in, until I could almost feel Betty’s hot breath in my ear. I shooed a fly away with the back of my hand. I nodded my head in agreement.

“Of course I’ll help you blow them out!”

And we did. I admit it took a few more lungfuls than it used to but climate change and everything.

“Did you make a wish?” I asked Betty.

Betty shot me that same coy look that in 1993 had made me impulsively decide to pull a U-Turn on Ocean Avenue nearly getting myself and my first wife, Becky killed in the process. But when I had saw her standing under the bus shelter in the rain, simply because I decided to flick my cigarette out the window, well, it was love at first sight.

Becky and I gave Betty a ride home and we smoked a joint and talked about Ren & Stimpy cartoons and Betty kept saying how cool Becky and I were, and that she really, really, really, liked Led Zeppelin too. She called them Zep with a bit of a lisp that I found endearing. I also remember how sweetly she cooed to me, “I’ve never been in a Lexus before.” Becky had given me a look I didn’t care for.

“Well, are you going to tell me your wish?” I asked, Betty.

Betty gave me the coy look again. I knew what it meant. I felt my blood rush to my face. I leaned my head in towards Betty’s face, my cheek gently brushing ruby red painted lips. She knew I loved her lips festive. I cocked my head gently to the left and said, “Tell me.”

She did.

“Hmmm?” I asked feigning surprise. I turned to look Betty in her eye. The fly was back. Just like the back of my hand it was gone again.

Betty held my gaze. She could do that. She could be persistent.

I nodded with mock seriousness.

Betty flashed me that mischievous twinkle in her eye again. I knew it well. It was the one that said we were going to be very bad, and that, that, was going to be very good.

“Did you want to do these heinously immoral acts before or after butternut frosted birthday cake, my Betty buttercup?” I asked.

Betty suddenly cocked her head towards the couch and kept it that way. I caught myself frowning and righted course.

“Well,” I said glancing at the couch, and then back at Betty with what felt like a wolfish grin. “Your wish. Your birthday.”

I gently lifted Betty’s head by the chin. Righting its angle away from rather odd, our lips touched. Then it went from touching to a passionate kiss. It felt a year since we had kissed. I carried Betty like a doll in my arms to the couch. And then I granted Betty her birthday wish.

When it was over we stayed there in post-coital languor for at least a few Marlboros. I heard the crickets through the open window and thought about how time keeps slipping into the future.

When Betty and I were done and back at the table I took a bite of cake. I asked Betty if she liked hers. I noticed she had gotten frosting all over her lips and chin. I guess that meant yes. When we were finally done with the annual festivities, I walked with Betty back down the long marble hallway until we finally arrived at her room. The gold-plated name tag on the mahogany door read, “Betty No. 1: 9/18/2004”.

I knew Betty wanted me to stay the night but tomorrow was coincidentally Becky’s birthday and I knew she’d want a cake and kisses and wishes just like Betty always did. And, Barbara, oh my gosh, Barbara’s birthday would be coming up pretty soon too. And Beatrice. And then there’s Belinda, Betsy, Billie, Brigette, Bardot, Bonnie, Bertha, Bessie, Brooke, Bailey, Brielle, Brittney, Brianna and Broomhilida. Noooo…, just kidding. Who would be dopey enough to go for a girl named, Broomhilda?

Yes, it was a full house of birthday girls whose names all began with the letter, “B,” and who all were just sure I was the Bee’s Knees.

Life’s pretty great when you have a private island. I just wish somebody would remember my birthday once in a while. Oh well, time to find a Beryl, Bianca, Barbara, Bethany or Bambi who maybe, just maybe might be more considerate of my special day. And to be frank as a hot dog and far from discreet, I still have a lot of vacancies to fill on that long marble hall and more dead days and weeks in May, October, December and August than a mansion’s got a right to. Who said birthdays were the worst days?