Yesterday, I turned 37 (that's 17 in Artist Years). Karen and I are 5 years apart in age but our birthdays are only 12 days apart. That's good for us because it means cake and wish making twice in one month. It also means we get the fun of seeing which of our mutual friends and loved ones forgets one of our birthdays. Oh don't get me wrong- neither of us is the boohoo you forgot my birthday type. No, we're the see, you forget things, too types. When we were kids, birthdays were bad because they were the one or two days out of the year that our dad might or might not call- either option would always have a bad outcome. Forgetting the birth date (or in our case, the existence) of your kids is bad, especially when the kids are young. There's no way around the badness of that. But when you grow up and get over the first 18 years of your life, the new type of forgetting gets fun. I mean the type of forgetting where you tell yourself over and over not to forget to bring Karen's birthday gift to dinner and then you show up and you realize you forgot the thing you told yourself to remember 20 times in the last 3 hours. On the oh my God, Dad might call scale of measuring forgetfulness, this type of forgetting gives us the giggles. Who can't relate to that type of forgetting? So yesterday Karen braved SPRING STORM '06 and made her way to my house for our birthday lunch ...and to get the birthday gift I forgot to give her, twice.
Oh happy day!
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