I love birthdays. I should be more precise: I love my birthday. I have friends who hate theirs and insist on it being ignored or severely neglected.

I don’t understand that mentality at all. I make sure everyone within a two mile radius knows it’s my day of birth and I gently and discreetly (read: ungently and very bloody undiscreetly) remind my people the previous day of the life-saving urgency of wishing me a happy birthday…

It’s my birthday today. And it’s been the best day. A few colleagues surprised me with an unforgettable breakfast in the middle of a rose garden. The usual heat beating down on my town this time of year had dissipated a bit and left us in a rose garden with sunshine and a cool breeze. It was lovely. There is something utterly comforting about sitting at a table that was prepared with only you in mind, and having your favorite people sit around and chat as if they too are bathing in your happiness.

I’d asked my best friends to join me for dinner at my favorite local cuisine restaurant. Around the time I was arranging this dinner an old friend from school phoned. We see each other every second month or so to catch up, but our lives have darted in vastly different directions and we have a mutual understanding of keeping it in low doses…

In a moment of thoughtlessness I invited her along. The result was a lovely dinner…but one in which I was roasted from beginning to end. Being the butt of every joke and having old humiliations resurface are shitty enough on those many days that nothing is about me…but on the day that everything is about me (well, at least in my head…), I’d rather just have a nice rare steak and get on with it…

I considered getting back at her a bit, but I have enough in life I feel guilty and regretful about, I am not loading more horse shit on that wagon, thank you. So I sat there like a bucket of butter and tried to laugh just enough not to reveal the fact that I wanted to Husein Bolt my way to my car and drive home.

But here I am. Home after a long happy day of celebrating alive-ness. And I’m moaning about a silly girl who mocked me in front of my friends…my friends who – despite having kids – made time to join the old butter bucket for her birthday.

Nah, roast me till I’m done…I’m a lucky lady…

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