Nothing confuses, frustrates and distresses me more than my birthday. My birthdate falls in the void between Christmas and New Year's Eve. People are tired, shopped and partied out, out of town... etc. It's too soon after the big build up of the holidays to imagine one more party-celebration-cause for gift wrapping. We have gifted all we can. We need time and space to replenish our stores of good will and party stamina. Who can bear to look at another cheese platter? I know. I understand. This is why it's been eleven years since I last offered myself a party in my honor.
I was going to say more, but at this point confusion and distress are seeping in to my thoughts. Do I really want a party? How about just a take out container of sauce slathered ribs, some onion rings and one of Geoff's Margaritas? I could invite my most tolerant friends over to alternately cry and laugh over a ridiculously rich chocolate cake.
This is the year I am going to start lying about my age.
My name is Natalie.
How old am I?
Why, I am fifty years old tomorrow.
I don't look a day over 43?
You're so sweet.
Have a Margarita.
****Uh... evidently lying about my age was not such a hot idea... I am getting sympathy and encouragement. I must actually look closer to 50 than I thought.****