My birthday is in two days. ‘Happy Birthday!’ you say. Well, in the words of Warren G, you don’t see what I see.
I’ve managed to shock quite a few people with my age in the last two months – the most recent being my former neighbour who tried to keep a straight face and failed (Hi Pavla).
With that in mind I have decided to stop telling people my age now. This is a thing I would find absolutely ridiculous on a normal day, it’s isn’t as if I had any sort of control over when I was born right? I don’t want to be younger, or thought of as obsessing over a number, any number. I just want to be further along in life, I want to have achieved more than I have. That much I do have control over.
And this is the crux of the matter. This is why I have decided not to celebrate my birthday as I previously planned.
Oh, it’s no great hardship to me (sniff, sniff). I was waffling anyway. The first party I had was at 22 and it was kiddie party complete with cake, ice cream, jello and Pin the Tail on the Donkey because my flatmates felt bad for me. My mother was not a party person so I had never had one before then. The other one was when I turned 27. It was afternoon tea at The Cadogan, again, not some great party – even if afternoon tea is something that I love.
So you see, I don’t have some great party-throwing history.
In spite of this, the debate on whether I should throw a party or not is still raging. My vicar is on the ‘Celebrate’ side and so is Hubs. While it is great to be reminded that God takes an interest in such seemingly mundane details as a birthday shindig, I figured he’d be happy with me doing a private Thanksgiving in church.
And Hubs will live.
Instead I will spend my whole milestone year doing something which I much prefer. I was poised to type what it was but the idea of what Ginger and Nkem and Kiki and the rest of you will say is putting me off. Meh, whatever. Kill me.
I am going to do it; I will write and finish a manuscript as I always do and this time, I WILL LOOK FOR AN AGENT.
This is my solemn vow.