No, I'm not thinking morbidly (although that's not altogether unlike me). Sure, I'll get older. I just don't know if celebrating it is worth the effort. I mentioned in passing that last Monday was my birthday, and it was rather uneventful. I had a nice dinner and some yummy strawberry cake with my parents on the previous Friday. Tomorrow, Nate's parents are coming to give me my gift. I invited them over, knowing full well that the house was a wreck, and thinking that would give us motivation to clean up a bit. Also, since they're already bringing me a gift, I felt it would be rude to invite myself over there.
Today, when I wasn't at Nina's baby shower (congrats, Nina!), was spent marathon cleaning our downstairs in preparation for their visit. There was also the task of finding something I want. Easy, right? Not really. First, she wants to get me something "for me." This is with the best of intentions, because I think she feels I'm being a martyr, but I truly prefer practical gifts. For example, I would love a panini press, but I'm not supposed to ask for that because cooking is something I have to do. I don't have time to go out shopping for myself, so I am resigned to asking for mostly food items (e.g. herbal teas, chocolates). I also put a couple of gift cards on the list, but I know those are also frowned upon. I really appreciate the gift, but the asking itself is exhausting.
So that's it. If you want to wish me a happy birthday, you had better have done it on my 27th. Next year, I think I'll just wake up and be 28 and let that be the end of it.
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