One time I was born and that time was 30 years ago. And to celebrate the day of my birth—the occasion of being expelled from my mother’s womb, which is not unlike being expelled from school, except that, in my case, the consequential spankings are celebratory—I had a party.
At the party there was cake, and presents, and chardonnay. And also, there was a dress code. I tried to leave my house appropriately attired—that is, in my birthday suit. But Andrew wouldn’t have it, partly because he said I might get arrested showing that much skin, but mostly because it was way too cold outside.
So instead of wearing the suit my mom made me, I settled for festive flaming eyeware.
And even though I felt they were tres chic, I was still kind of embarrassed about my silly glasses. So, I cracked a few jokes.
I was all, these glasses really light up my face! And everybody laughed.
And then I was like, hey I have a blue frosting unibrow! And everybody laughed.
But then I was all, these frames really make my eyes look huge! Can we get something like this for my BOOBS?!
And then everybody was like …
CLEARLY not as amused as I was.
And for a moment the room was entirely silent, except for the person who fake coughed: “Inappropriate!” … And that person may or may not have been me.
For presents this year, I got some neat things: cowboy boots, a David Sedaris book, an apron for entertaining, a scented candle. My favorite gift was a very thoughtful birthday card from my dear friend, Ashley. So sweet and sentimental, it read (in crazy bold lettering), “THE ROMAN NUMERALS FOR ‘30’ ARE XXX. NEED I SAY MORE?”
When I read the card aloud, my boyfriend’s mother fluttered her hand to her mouth and gasped. I think it’s because the message—the implication that I was in my dirty 30s, that I was about to hit my sexual peak (yay!) while dating her hotpants son (bow chicka wow wow!)—it was so beautiful.
I’m pretty sure Andrew liked the card too … and the fact he was taking me home later.
And in case you’re wondering, it’s true what they say, that everything is bigger in Texas.
I mean, check out my cake! You could park an aircraft on that thing.
And check me out!
Shortly after this photo was taken, I got my birthday wish…
And it was for another glass of wine … which I promptly downed.
… And which probably explains why I felt it was acceptable, nay imperative, that I be photographed in the following manner:
In conclusion, I would just like to say—for anyone who claims I’m full of hot air—it took me two tries to blow out seven candles. Two tries! Pathetic. Apparently the only time I’m long-winded is when writing racy, birthday-related blog posts. Thank God we only do this once a year. And also? Thank God the flaming glasses have made a mysterious disappearance. The birthday suit, however, is in full effect whenever I can rock it. Something tells me I’m REALLY going to like my 30s.
