Some days I skip, whistle, pretend to be leading the SJP life, buy candy-pink dresses, do silly dances to Pink Martini, chat with cab drivers, think about old friends, play with babies, twirl my hair into scrolls.
And days like today I wear full black, keep my shades on, have my much-needed coffee order omitted, spend the entire afternoon doing three re-writes of a six-page proposal, chew on raspberry lollies to battle a flu, and find myself close to tears while humming along to The Rainbow Connection.
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The birthday is coming. And this year I feel like doing something. Not flee the country like I usually do. It falls on Monday, and I'd like to dress up in a pretty black Paul and Joe dress, be surrounded by good friends, wine, and some kind of warm fuzzy feeling. Sunday is no good because people will want to be home in time for the mandatory pre-Monday 8-hours' sleep. Saturday is no good because people will be hungover from New Years' Eve soirees. And Friday is no good either because people will have other parties to go to. Then there's the problem of choosing the venue - not too crowded, but busy enough, easy access, tasteful music, vast beverage options...... Don't buy me a present. Just come visit. But if you can't, then send me orchids at work, earrings from Jolie (Scotts Shopping Centre, #03-16), some kisses.
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