43. An inconsequential number. I feel anything but inconsequential.
An ideal birthday today. I spent the morning pottering in my pyjamas; and the afternoon doing errands (not in my pyjamas). The ones I wanted to do.
Hun offered me a night on the town: dinner and a show. Thanks, I said. I’d prefer an evening at home.
So Hun cooked supper. Family and close friends joined us. My kind of heaven.
Prezzie time. All of them books, but one. The one from my mum. Essential for my favourite indulgence; reminding me of my mortality.
My first pair of reading glasses.
well – you do keep it quiet, hey? HAPPY BIRTHDAY DUSTY! i would never have guessed that it was 43…
Oops. Busted. If you tell the others, I will smite thee with my rod of pain.
Your mother’s trying to tell you something. You’re you’re a victim of presbyopia. Soon you’ll have reading glasses in every room of the house, in the car, at work, in the pocket of every jacket, and shirt. Everywhere. But you’ll never be able to find even one.
Oh dear. I already battle to find them in my handbag. Maybe I’ll have to resort to those strings that old ladies wear around their necks.
Thanks for popping in, Mark.