Happy Birthday to Ya!

This morning Nick wondered why I was in such a crabby mood. After all, it’s my birthday, why shouldn’t I want to celebrate?

Celebrate what???!!! Men really don’t have the faintest clue about women… It’s all the stupid magazine’s fault. While we’re indoctrinated on how to please a man in and out of bed since the age we’re able to read Cosmo, boys remain blissfully ignorant on how to bridge the difference between the sexes. We’ll always remain a mystery to them – far more complex than assembling a jet engine blindfolded…

Yet, really, the answer is pathetically clear and simple. If only he stopped worrying about what to wear to the office for a minute and looked beyond the contents of his overstuffed wardrobe, he might get a clue on why I’m not jumping up and down to Stevie Wonder’s Happy Birthday blaring through the speakers while being forced to unwrap presents in my bathrobe, before he leaves for work. In truth, I’d much rather wait till dinner – I’m more likely to be in an agreeable mood by then, dressed, with my hair done up and wearing make up.

Besides, I’ve celebrated so many birthdays already, that the thought of having to face another bores me to tears. After all, every passing year just reminds me that I’m getting older, fatter and closer to the end. What’s so good about that?

Secondly, I’ve got to get up shower and brew my own pot of tea while Nick’s still fast asleep. Then I’ve got to do two loads of washing, buy groceries for tonight’s dinner, move the pile of dirty dishes into the dishwasher, pay the bills and put the rubbish out. There’s never a reprieve from the fucking housework! If I had a job, at least I’d have a cleaning lady at home and my colleagues would buy me cake.

It’s my birthday and I can cry if I want to. Therefore, I’m going to chuck out the antique bed we use as a couch and the 60s designer office chair that are the causes of an endless, ongoing pain in the rear! Today’s the last day I’m getting out of bed feeling stiff and sore, suffering the consequences of trendy designer furniture that doesn’t cut the mustard. I’m particularly angry today because the benefits of yesterday’s massage have been neutralized by these two evil pieces of furniture. But their day has come…

Having said all that, I’m glad I’m 42 today. I feel like I’m finally all grown up. Nick’s presents are lovely (expensive shoes and a designer tee-shirt), and he’s cooking my favourite meal tonight: Vienner Schnitzel and Risotto Milanese, and champagne.

Happy birthday to me!