It is not my birthday today, my birthday was days ago, if you wish me a happy birthday… I bite; just to warn you!
My husband is making me do a birthday post. He loves my birthday; the jerk! I was born 8 days before him so he revs up the demon spawn and they all dance about cackling “cougar” at me for 8 days betwixt gales of demonic laughter.
Oh my, 8 days, he’s such a baby; actually he is but that is another post. My Poppa was 8 days older than Nanna, Dad (Ron) was 8 days older than Mum; no laughs there. I am 8 days older and every year it’s big laughs for everyone. Ha ha ha; nailpolish an odd gift oh it is called ‘Cradle snatcher’ ha ha how amusing, a plastic lioness oh no it is a plastic cougar, I get it, ha ha how droll. And this isn’t my main argument against this stupid annual … day!
I’m 46, ha ha that is old. When you are surrounded by idiot teens and twenty somethings, it’s ancient. Actually I couldn’t care less about my age, I am old enough to be a grandma. I would love to be a grandma. Look at any of my posts about my children and you will realise this is not going to happen. The Autism, depression, not miraculously finding their soulmate before leaving society forever (like I did) combination has obliterated their love lives. I want a baby!
The cackling and “Over the hill” jeers are annoying; like almost everything Cat does or says, but not the reason I’m over my birthday.
My main problem with my birthday is that it starts a month of horror.
We are welfare parasites, so money is tight; really tight. Christmas & school starting generally means January & February are financial disasters; before we can even come up for breath we get March. My birthday, my husband the saint’s, Echo, Cat evil but expects gifts, our anniversary, then April; Alex and Easter.
The saint, my husband, takes no money and buys me lavish, thoughtful gifts. How nice I hear you think! No! No it is not nice, it is truly, evil! He sets the bar way too high; just so everyone will remember that he is wonderful & I don’t deserve him. I mean only MY MOTHER and the kids actually say it, but everyone knows. So what do I do for the man who doesn’t do/have anything for himself, I hate him.
And it’s our 25th anniversary. The jerk has organised and prepaid a party where we were married and a holiday. I’m autistic so a party and a holiday, thoughtful or a diabolical way to kill me while making himself look good? I know what I know! So what in the hell am I supposed to do? Actually I had a really good idea; but it requires time; which I’m running out of, and money; there may have been a sale online at Officeworks & RoseWarehouse. Plus I got a voucher for a free birthday makeover and I may have bought some cosmetics, in fact I might have spent about $300 on cosmetics. I don’t wear cosmetics.
Oh I forgot to get a before & after photo but I’ve got one of my attempt to do my own makeup.
I attended my, Gav & Cat’s combined birthday looking like this, fortunately everyone there was kind, my progeny or under 10.
So anyway my birthday always passes in a blur of anxiety, running out of time & money and constantly changing timetables. Why oh why couldn’t I be last? The husband might be so upset at his gifts that he returns mine & there would be nothing more to plan, and no big clock ticking down in my head. Tick, tick, tick.
And I don’t have time to write a stupid blog about my dratted birthday. There it is done, shut up stupid husband!
Oh God he does the sad puppy look better than the spaniel.
I love my birthday, really I do darling, I know you are not plotting against me. Remember cougar, ha ha ha, growl!
Oh when is it May?