Vingt sept

Je suis vingt sept adjourd’hui. And in another 3 years I’d be thirty. Add another 30 and I’d be sixty.

Before falling asleep last night, I tried looking back at all the birthdays that I had, and pick the one most outstanding. It turns out, there’s none. All my birthdays were the same. Uneventful. The usual trips to the mall, eating out in a restaurant. But then again I am not that type of person who likes being the center of attention.

The drawback of having your birthday within the jovial perimeter of the year-end holidays (Christmas and New Year) is that everybody’s exhausted from all the partying. Too nauseated to jug one’s way to another bottle of tequila. So no events in another week after the New Year’s Eve. And at Christmas, the card that comes with the gift always says Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and Happy Birthday.

Maybe next year I can get to celebrate my birthday slothfully lying in a hammock at the beach, sipping cranberry juice on crushed ice with a hint of rum, reading a good book, with Bob Marley and the Wailers reggae-ing their way through my iPod. Wow that is something. I’d like to have that.

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One Response to “Vingt sept”

  1. joanthegreat Says:

    slothfully lying in a hammock at the beach, sipping cranberry juice on crushed ice with a hint of rum, reading a good book, with Bob Marley and the Wailers reggae-ing their way through my iPod <- i wouldn't mind doing this on the 3rd of January if it's for free! :))

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