Did I mention I used to write headlines for a living? Well, that was the more interesting part of what I did for a living.
And life goes on...I turned 33 on Tuesday. Or that's what my parents tell me anyway. My mom reminded me on the phone that the hour of my birth was actually 4:27pm Mountain Standard Time, to be exact.
We must consider ourselves privileged in this country to know the day, and often the hour, of our entry into the world. In India, it's common for a person to be ignorant not only of the exact day, but sometimes the year of her birth.
Lately I've gotten in the habit of not planning anything special for my birthday. I'd like to say this is because I like surprises, but it's mostly so I won't be disappointed. As a single woman in her thirties, I can't be too cautious.
So I woke on Tuesday morn with not a care in the world, and only the intention to enjoy the day. Coffee drunk and dog walked, I breakfasted with Little Gen, who had some unexpected time to kill. She treated me to the three-cheese and avocado omelette special at our local spot.
My afternoon was spent nicely in the park playing catch with Keeper and Mountain Guy, and I retuned home to find mail order chocolate covered strawberries on my step––sorry, it's official: I have the best mom. I promptly ate five of them.
The day topped off with dinner and drinks and Dragon Boy's Mama. I was nearly two pear gimlets in when a couple at a nearby table stood up and began looking all around for a suddenly lost earring. With the search underway, I noticed a tiny silver glint in one of their table legs; and with the confidence of the only person who knows CPR in the presence of a choking victim, I marched over to the table, plucked the deviant hoop out of the leg, and handed it back to its owner. The whole patio cheered...well, a good section of it did.
Nothing like saving the day for a birthday present. And the grateful couple treated us to a round of drinks. But the night was not over; coming in the back door of my apartment, I noticed something white on the step. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust in the dark, but I eventually made out...yes, you guessed it...a sun-bleached cow's scull. It's official, I also have the best aunt in the world. I mean, it takes a special vegetarian to understand my affinity for dead animal carcasses.
It was the perfect end to a perfect day.
OneArmGirl
And life goes on...I turned 33 on Tuesday. Or that's what my parents tell me anyway. My mom reminded me on the phone that the hour of my birth was actually 4:27pm Mountain Standard Time, to be exact.
Lately I've gotten in the habit of not planning anything special for my birthday. I'd like to say this is because I like surprises, but it's mostly so I won't be disappointed. As a single woman in her thirties, I can't be too cautious.
So I woke on Tuesday morn with not a care in the world, and only the intention to enjoy the day. Coffee drunk and dog walked, I breakfasted with Little Gen, who had some unexpected time to kill. She treated me to the three-cheese and avocado omelette special at our local spot.
My afternoon was spent nicely in the park playing catch with Keeper and Mountain Guy, and I retuned home to find mail order chocolate covered strawberries on my step––sorry, it's official: I have the best mom. I promptly ate five of them.
Nothing like saving the day for a birthday present. And the grateful couple treated us to a round of drinks. But the night was not over; coming in the back door of my apartment, I noticed something white on the step. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust in the dark, but I eventually made out...yes, you guessed it...a sun-bleached cow's scull. It's official, I also have the best aunt in the world. I mean, it takes a special vegetarian to understand my affinity for dead animal carcasses.
It was the perfect end to a perfect day.
OneArmGirl
