It's my birthday today and I forgot all about the ones.
When I turned 30, my then-boyfriend Dan rented a limo, and he and some friends of ours when out on the town, and had a nice fat steak downtown, and a night of carousing at the New Orleans Jazz Club in Pioneer Square.
When I turned 31, I stuck my head over the cubicle at work and said "Hey, it's my birthday, anyone want to go have a beer?"
Same thing at 40 so far...
At 40, my sister and friends flew me into Seattle, we partied, we had fun (OK, I didn't party so much since I was 7 weeks pregnant with Nora at the time) but we had a blast.
At 41, I am sitting at home with no job because I'm a new mom (no complaints there), but I still want to stick my head out of the proverbial cubicle (is there such a thing as a proverbial cubicle?) and ask Brian "Do you want to get a beer?"
It's funny, not sad. Don't feel sorry for me at all. This past year has been a blessing. Most of the people nearest and dearest to me have remembered my birthday if nothing else, with a phone call or a card or an e-mail.
I just think it's funny how the big 0's are such a big deal, but The Ones are boring.
Happy 41 to ME!