Yesterday was my birthday. Forty-sixth. Good Lord, how did THAT happen? I try to count my blessings where I find them. I may be forty-six, but I don't yet wear bifocals and my boobs remain more or less where they're supposed to be. Now and then I find a gray hair, but I have teenager children, a husband, and a house full of animals. Gray hairs are inevitable.
I did receive lots of neat presents. (I made sure by picking out most of them myself, which is the ONLY way for a gal to get what she wants). A new pair of Birkenstocks were on the list and a couple of new sleepshirts from Victoria's Secret. (I live in these shirts. If only they didn't put the Victoria's Secret Logo on them, I swear I'd wear them in public.) I also received several books and DVDs.
Skid by Dean Young
Go with Me by Castle Freeman
Mudbound by Hillary Jordan
No Country for Old Men (Hasn't arrived yet)
To round things out, I got a new Panasonic telephone with speaker and headset and a Coleman lantern for when the power goes out. (When you live in the woods, the power seems to go out every time there is a cool breeze. It's a tree limb on power line thing). Mary Anne, who has known me from the days before I was married, sent beautiful flowers to brighten my desk.
Husband bought us dinner at The Cheesecake Factory. I'm crazy about their tamale corn cakes (appetizer). And the garlic mashed potatoes are the best thing since sliced bread. Of course, I had to have tiramisu cheesecake and a honey latte.
And to cap it all off, Barack Obama won the Wyoming caucus.
All in all, I kinda like being the birthday girl. Except the getting older part. But then as someone once said (maybe Woody Allen?), the alternative is worse!