Be Careful What You Wish For…

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Today is my birthday.  I mention this, not in a warped desire to have people I’ve never met send me polite but sincere greetings; nor in a masochistic desire to be reminded – as if my aches and pains and grey hairs weren’t already doing it – that I’m getting old; but because I have nothing else to blog about.

Oh, all right!  You forced it out of me: I am entirely masochistic and I love to be noticed (hence the daily blog).  It’s my birthday and I’ll lie if I want to.  I don’t think I’ll tell you my age, though (it’s my birthday and I’ll be shy if I want to).

 

The day started yesterday, with a visit from my friend Alison, who brought me a huge bouquet.  This morning it was the turn of the Hub, who gave me a decent MP3 player.  He bought me a cheapish one for Christmas and that broke so he sent it back and they replaced it and that broke so he sent it back and they replaced it with another kind and that broke from overuse a couple of months ago – right about the time Glee finished and the albums came out and I had a ton of decorating to do.  I think I wore it out.

Next, it was the real presents, from the son who hasn’t deserted me. He has been asking for weeks what I want for my birthday, and each time I have replied, ‘Maltesers.’   Sure enough, my first gift from him was a box of Maltesers.  So was my second and third.  The Hub gave me his first gift: four boxes of Maltesers.  That was followed by a bottle of expensive wine.  Then it was back to Spud, who handed me a large gift: two cunningly disguised boxes of Maltesers. 

My youngest son is going to do well with women, because he has mastered the art of listening to what they want, then supplying it – out of his own meagre savings as well; what woman could resist a man with a small bank balance but a big heart?  (No women, so long as they don’t know about his secret stash, hoarded for the new PS3 game coming out on Friday.)

Spud also wrote a special song to celebrate my day; it goes like this:

One day closer to dying
One day closer to death
Your tale has been told
You’re getting old
Soon you’ll take your last breath

It’s my birthday and I’ll throttle my child if I want to.

My plans for today have been made for me:

1. Wait at home while the Hub goes gallivanting off to the hospital to find out why he’s got a girly disease. 
2. Crack open my expensive bottle of wine with my blonde friend this afternoon.  I have to share it with someone or I will have one glass and it will sit in the fridge for months.  The last bottle of wine I has was opened in January and finally chucked out in August. 
3. Eat.  For my birthday meal, I fancy steak, egg & chips – it’s my birthday and I’ll fry if I want to.  Or maybe a nice chicken pasty and apple pudding of some sort…it’s my birthday and I’ll eat pie if I want to.  I’ll let them decide: I refuse to cook because it’s my birthday and somebody better make me something nice for dinner.  
4. Attend Spud’s school’s careers evening. 

Finally, I will go to bed at eight while they watch the match.  Don’t feel sorry for me: I need some alone time at the end of the day; how else can I wade into nine boxes of Maltesers without having to share them?