I know I’m getting old because when I meet handsome men I
check their left hand for a ring. And I’m willing to pay for cloakroom charges,
and I found myself glaring at a teenager who didn’t offer me his seat on the
bus. I also recently was invited to celebrate two of my friends reaching their
‘mid twenties’, and was disgruntled because they’re turning 26, so clearly
they’re celebrating a year too late. I understand being fashionably late, but
this is just absurd. It’s like going to a restaurant, having a lovely dinner
and then going back a week later for your pudding, because you’ve reached ‘the
pudding stage’. The timescale is preposterous. (I know, someone’s going to
point out some ridiculous caveat like when you’re born you are 0 or something.
To be honest, my friends and I were born so bleeding long ago even our mothers
have forgotten all about it. Or are pretending to. My Mother is decidedly vague
when I ask her about me being born, and her feelings of overwhelming joy and so
on).
It’s my Mother’s birthday today, and she didn’t want us to
make a fuss. So I thoughtfully sent a bunch of balloons saying ‘Happy 50th!’
and ‘Get Well Soon!’ to her office.
I thought the
exclamation at the end of the ‘Get Well Soon’ balloon was a little insensitive
myself, but perhaps I am overly tactful. I also bought my Mother a card. It is
imperative to give people cards as often as possible, because they are the
perfect medium for subliminal messaging:
Dear Mum,
Happy Birthday! I’m so pleased you are so old (this card is
from your favourite child).I hope you don’t die soon, but if you do I would
definitely see that you had a nice funeral (this card is from your favourite
child). I think we should celebrate your birthday by going out to dinner (you
should pay for this, and I will pay you back with the aforementioned funeral).
Much love,
Your favourite child
KISSES
(It is imperative to put kisses at the end of cards so
people forget that you haven’t included a cheque. For those of your under 25, a
cheque is money we used to get in our birthday cards and never quite get round
to taking to the bank. You will be interested to hear that cheques have an
expiry date, and wailing ‘but pleeeeassseee. It’s from my 13th
birthday!’ at the bank counter will not change this. Even if the bank teller
isn’t wearing a wedding ring).
unfashionablylost 