Am I still supposed to look forward to my birthday?
I have yet another one coming up in three days, and I'm just not up for too much fuss. That is, if there is any fuss at all. If there isn't, I'll probably be an interesting combination of peeved and relieved at the same time.
Actually, I know there will be an assortment of the standard events, because I've made the reservations for a couple of them myself.
I know that Tim has something up his sleeve this evening, and tomorrow evening Tim and M. and I will visit one of my very favorite establishments, throw down some serious bucks and drink and eat ourselves into a semi-catatonic state. A visit to an Upper East Side Older Gentlemen's Drinking Establishment may or may not follow. Sunday will be spent recovering and/or at the gym and a bit later at the (sigh) Dugout. Monday, the day itself, I will be working on a bid for miscellaneous furniture to be installed at New York's largest and currently most dangerous construction site. There may be a lunch involved, and possibly birthday cake. I think I'll hide in the evening, to recover from this surfeit of birthday gaiety.
Once again, I've prepared myself by telling anyone who asked during the past several months that I was 53, when in fact, I was enjoying my 52nd year. It's a simple way to prepare myself for the inevitable. And of course, one hopes to garner compliments along the lines of: "Gee, you don't look so bad for 53!". It rarely works.
If you see me out and about, know that I'll be accepting all manner of birthday wishes, various hugs, multitudes of kisses from them that wants to offer 'em, and commiseration from those who join me in my advanced age.