Early this morning, I was awakened by Florian the Kitten, who discovered his ability to walk on the baby’s keyboard, thereby turning it on and playing a few notes. I was pleased that a musically inclined psychopath had not broken in and that at least one of the beings in our household will willingly practice piano. (The baby remains convinced that he can learn piano by just sitting in the same room as the instrument.)
That event out of the way, I took a moment to say, “I’m 33. I’m 33. I’m 33.” Because that is the age that I am as of this morning.
I then came to the unfortunate realization that my birthday present from Mother Nature was cramps. Thanks, Mother Nature. A someecard would have sufficed.
That gift meant that I responded to many happy birthday wishes this morning with a wan face and a withering smile. I went to a quick Pilates class though and it really helped, if for no other reason than the fact that we ended by laying on the floor in the fetal position, which is exactly what I needed to do.
I’m wearing a very cute dress that my grandmother gave me on Saturday. It’s from Anthropologie, or Apologetic as she calls it, because she does not like calling things by their actual names. (See also: my old boyfriend Clint, who she called Elwood, or the shop Divertido in Lawrenceville, which she calls Deuteronomy, or my buddy Frank, who she calls Stush.)