My childhood storybooks are still with me (not physically, unfortunately). One of them is especially relevent today: The Choosing Day. The story is about a little girl who wakes up on her birthday and is granted her every choice of activity and the full attention of her Mother. It’s just great. She does the best stuff. She chooses cake for breakfast (which was written like it was a big deal, so she mustn’t have been a continental European where that is quite normal..). Then she chooses the day’s outfits for her and her Mum. A long pink dress for her, pearls and silver sparkly shoes. The Mum wears her wedding dress.
I can’t remember exactly what they do then... I know they go to the park and meet some friends, (but no Sangria) meet the Daddy of the family and have some icecream, before falling asleep in the dress and pearls.
I’m 24 today, which has got me feeling old and young at the same time. I feel old because my birthday, unfortunately, isn’t that special anymore.
I feel young because most of the people around me are older than me, and because I still walk around today wondering if people can tell it’s my birthday just by looking at me, and wanting to tell them proudly if they can’t. Then I feel old again because if they asked how old I am I wouldn’t be able to show them with my fingers.
Anyway. My birthday has a bit of bad Karma about it usually, but today has so far been the best one I’ve had in a while.
We had breakfast out, which we hadn’t done for a while. I had a glass of Verdejo with lunch, and bought myself some lacey undergarments, which, when worn under clothes, make one feel more dressed.
Now I’m going out to dinner with Salva, and plan to accompany this next meal with another glass of wine.
It’s not the perfect day that Lou Reed sang about, (due to sub-zero temperatures) but those days are gifts that can’t be planned. I’m happy enough as it is with today, slow, sweet and normal.
I’m off to consider myself at 24.