Birthday blues.

It’s no secret I’m getting older. Officially, in another two weeks time. Unofficially, every time Amanda and I pass a cake store. She loves asking me which birthday cake I’ll be getting and which candles I’ll be picking to go with the cake.

On our walk home from school the Thursday just past, she ramped up the birthday talk even more by asking me, “Are you going to have a birthday or are you going to have BIRTHDAY?” It must be all the American sitcoms she’s been watching because she thinks exaggerating a word makes me sit up and take notice.

“My birthday’s not for a while yet,” I told her. When she’s older I’ll tell her how I share the same birthday as 2 Rockefellers – both Godzillionaires – but have none of their talent for making money. Coincidentally, Amanda’s birthday is the death-day for one of them.

Yes, I know. It’s freaky. Still, I’ve won no lotteries or even scratch-its, so luck must be limited to just their family. Although, the big book of birthdays does say that real estate and anything to do with earth is a money-making avenue for me. So maybe I’m just in the wrong place, doing the wrong thing, at the wrong time. Typical story.

Anyhow Amanda asked, “Will there is balloons and goodie bags?”

“For who?”

“For the guest.” She looked at me with all the eagerness of a seven year old expecting a jumping castle on wheels and clowns to come down the road.

“There won’t be any goodie bags because won’t be any guests,” I announced like a funeral director. Forgive me, but after your thirtieth birthday, every birthday is a reminder of your blasted biological clock.

“Oh,” she said sounding like a whimpering dog. She must have thought it the worst birthday party  ever. American sitcoms are all about exaggeration. “How about cake then?” she asked.

“I might have a slice.” Or two, depending on how much skiing His Royal Highness, Amanda  and I do the two days before. As far as I’m concerned, being alive is present enough for one’s birthday when in the larger scheme of things, one could be dead.

Ok. I’ll try not to be such a kill-joy. Happy birthday 2 weeks in advance to me. Thank you for your kind thoughts and greetings on the day.