How apt, it being my birthday weekend.
I have a love hate relationship with my birthday.
I hate my birthday. But it is my birthday. So I get all sniffy if people don't mark it. But I get all sniffy if people do mark it because I find it embarrassing to be the centre of attention.
I am a pain in the ass about it, basically. Needy-needy in all the bad ways about it.
Who cares, it's MY birthday.
Speaking of, I am having a barbeque this afternoon to mark my birthday by feeding other people (that I can handle, being a Cancerian), and two guests have already emailed me this week to say, hewm...naaahhh... don't know if I can be arsed, maybe I'll come, type out all the instructions again for me in case I'm REALLY bored and decide to turn up.
The fuck I will.
Listen, petaleen (as Nabla says when she's mad with me), if you don't care about me enough to pretend that you are very busy doing some dreadful domestic chore, so you are terribly sad that you're maybe going to miss my birthday, then you have no business coming to my home to eat my food if there's nothing better on offer.
I am completely astounded at the rudeness of it.
Not the not turning up part, I've been doing that myself for decades.
The openly, cheerfully, candidly admitting they can't be arsed part.
What, do they think I am stupid? Do they think I have no feelings?
Of course they are younger than me, so that's probably why they think it's okay.
Us oldarses know better....
Thirty seven.
God how boring that sounds.
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