Having a birthday on 1 January is a blessing and a curse. The night before, it's extra Champagne for the birthday girl, and no cleaning up the next day, which is all great, but you do tend to begin your next year of life with your 'morning after the night before' head on, and there is double the expectation that people normally carry into the whole NY palaver.
So the birthday began with watching Le Boyfriend (saintly, he is) tidy up the house we were sitting, before we hightailed it to his flat for a quick nap, which turned into a longish sleep. I then zooted home to my parents' place for much bestowing of love and smiles and presents, only to have something of an upheaval with my father because, contrary to my wishes, he had organised a family lunch for the occasion, at a place and time of his choosing.
Given that I had organised a birthday picnic for 30 people the following day – an event for which I still needed to get into the kitchen and bake and ice a gazillion cupcakes – needless to say this lunch didn't fit into my plans. Regardless, we went, me at 25 years of age sulking like a 12-year-old and having to have Le Boyfriend poke me in the ribs every time I looked like I was going to sass.
My actual birthday evening saw me sweating and slaving at a hot oven (allow me a little sense of the dramatic, please), churning out a small army of perfect, pink cupcakes for the picnic the next day.
Upon which it rained. Cue cancelling of picnic.
No matter, still have Le Boyf's Birthday Surprise Adventure to look forward to this morning!
Oh wait. Cancelled due to rain too.
No matter. Stiff upper lip. Grab my Girl Love and The Fisherman and head to Ratanga Junction for some good old-fashioned tomfoolery and rollercoasters. Fantastic day. Entirely drove the blighted birthday blues away.
Until we got home, that was, and the three drinks I'd had tipped the scales on a nauseous tummy that had been building for a few days, and I spent the rest of the evening heaving over the toilet bowl.
Grand no? Everybody better cross their bloody fingers it doesn't rain on Saturday, when the Birthday Picnic Take Two will be taking place. I will not be amused if more rain should mar my birthday week.
See? Errors, comedy of.
And yet, at the end of it all, Le Boyfriend again managed to swoop in – quite literally – and save the day. My postponed birthday surprise saw the pair of us taking a leap of faith off Lion's Head last night, in a tandem paraglide, something I've wanted to do forever.
Best. Boyfriend. Ever. TM.
No comments:
Post a Comment