Happy Birthday to Me

I wasn't going to say anything, but it's my birthday. I'm not sure how I feel about turning 29. Is my biological clock running out? Should I be married by now? At my age, my mother had two children ages ten and seven. She was president of the PTA, worked part-time at the public library, and was a hospital volunteer.

Dr. Channing would not like it that I'm comparing myself to my mother. In fact, anytime the word "mother" comes up, her scribbling becomes more intense. One of these days I'd like to sneak into her office and read those notes. But alas, that would never happen because I just don't have the ability to do anything that adventurous.

Anyway, I went to Mama's house for my "birthday party." Grant and Meredith were there, sitting at the table, smiling and drinking lemonade. Placebo jumped up to greet me with a sloppy wet kiss. Mama had baked a bunny rabbit cake (she likes to use her Easter baking pan every chance she gets) and brought it to the table with great fan fare. All 29 candles were burning. I felt like running from the house screaming. I hate birthdays. Almost as much as weddings. I don't know why. Ask my therapist. 

Somehow I managed to blow out all the candles in one breath. Then it was time to open the gifts. I hate this part the most. I assume that everyone's happiness is hinged on my reaction to their gift and if I don't respond the right way, feelings get hurt and everyone is miserable.

But not this time. Grant and Meredith gave me a goody bag with various and sundry sweet treats, including chocolate covered cherries and a gift card for Macy's (Thank you!) Mama 's gift was a lovely pair of aquamarine earrings (my birthstone) and a cute short trench coat. I'm always shocked that Mama knows my style.

Afterwards we sang karaoke and watched "The Shawshank Redemption." 

Not such a bad day after all.