B is for Birthday

Birthdays are excellent. Today just so happens to be mine (see how I snuck that in there, I’m terribly crafty. You probably wouldn’t have noticed that particular facet of my personality if I hadn’t pointed it out for you. That’s how such an elusive quality happens to work). I’m sure you’ve had one or two of them yourself so you know that birthdays are crammed to the brim with exciting things like cake and best wishes and presents. And cake (you all know where my heart truly lies).

You might think that birthdays ought to represent a thoroughly earned day off for your friendly neighbourhood steadfastly diligent daily blog writer. Well bless you so much for thinking such charitable thoughts. But really, today is like any other. I’m going to churn through the unappetising sludge that is the contents of my mind hole for something quasi-worthy to talk about. I haven’t even had any cake yet (to be totally fair, I doubt very much there’s actually any room for it. I happen to have had, among other delicious treat, a massive plate of carvery followed by a toffee and cream cheese tart. No, it’s even better than it sounds).

So what can I possibly talk about on this very special day celebrating that all important twenty second anniversary of the momentous day of my birth (I’m still waiting for my parade by the way)? Should I discuss what kind of cake should be produced? Shall I make you very jealous by cataloguing in excruciating detail my glittering haul of fantastic gifts (the sweetly demure earrings twinkling in my lobes say yes but my natural modesty screams no. I’ll leave them to battle it out and get back to you. Or possibly not. That modest side of me has a crippling left hook when she’s in the right mood)? No, I shall simply say goodnight while the day is still going on and I’m still special.


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