It's my birthday! I'm thirty-six today, and you know, when I look in the mirror, the face looking back at me doesn't look a day over thirty-four. Boo-ya! I still got it goin' on.
Blogging about one's own birthday is dodgy territory. On one hand, you've got your blog, which is all about you. Then on the other hand, you've got your birthday, which is also all about you. Writing about your birthday on your blog, you run the risk of creating such a powerful vortex of you-ness that it sucks you up and spits you out into another dimension filled with other yous, not unlike that "Malkovich Malkovich" scene in Being John Malkovich.
Unless you're me, in which case none of that occurs and all that happens is that you experience a vague, blushing sense of shame in pimping your special day so egregiously.
But you're not me, so on your birthday, make sure you announce it on your site so that you can see what happens. And be sure to let me know, because I want a front-row seat for the vortex and the other dimension and the whathaveyou.
I'm pretty excited, because Rusty took the trouble of procuring young Master Sam's FIRST BABYSITTER EVER so that we can go out for a nice dinner tonight. It's not that Sam doesn't know how to comport himself in fine dining establishments. He does. But he gets restless after the entree, so we never get dessert. And I'd kind of like dessert this time.
To end things on a bookish note AND a birthday-ish note, can I share with you the fact that my all-time favourite Winnie-the-Pooh story is "Eeyore Has a Birthday"? It's about Eeyore's birthday and how Pooh and Piglet each try to give him a special present and everything goes wrong but then everything turns out okay after all. It may be the best short story ever written for children, and quite possibly a contender for best short story ever. If you've never read it, you really should. Do it for me. Because it's my bthuthdy.