Today is my birfday.
I actually think birthdays are highly overrated.
But even so, you're about to find out more about me than you ever, ever needed or wanted to know. Things could get ugly. Scary. Crazy emotional. I'm a complex person.
Oh! But first, and since it's my birthday, humor me, 'cause I have a question:
well let me preface: I've had exactly 14 birthdays as a married woman, and the hubs has forgotten exactly 13 of those birthdays, or if you need it as a percentage:
and just to make things even more interesting, know that the one other birthday not forgotten was because I went out of my way to keep reminding him.
But the plot thickens.
So, I um, like to think of this whole forgetful birthday thing as a test, if you will. I'm testing Jeffro. It's an annual test. That he fails. Annually.
So now we've come full circle. Question: is this playing dirty? Is this entrapment? I just kind of like messing with him. I mean, he's so incredibly awesome in so many other ways. Yeah, he hogs the bed all the time, 'n birthdays aren't his forte--
or anniversaries, or his kids' birthdays, or their middle names, or how to spell my first name--
anyway, don't worry. You don't need to give him the heads up. I overheard the 6 year old telling him.
(. . .. pause. . .pause. . . pause. . ."Oh yeah. . ." pause. . .pause. . . "that's right it is today. . . " )
Okay. Enough of that. You're all thinking less of me, aren't you? Well just wait 'cause we're not done here.
* It's not that I don't like the name of my blog, because I really do like my last name 'n all,
but I don't like the name of my blog. Why, self, why? Why?? (Add another thing to tell myself if I could go back in time and give myself helpful information).
What would I name the blog if I could change it? "Falling Up The Stairs". Swish.
* I'm a little snooty when it comes to bananas. I like bananas a great deal. But bananas-- well, I like to think of myself as a connoisseur. They must be slightly green and without a speck of brown. If they're slightly browned? They're still good. But they won't be peeled and eaten by moi. They can be frozen for a smoothie or put in banana bread. They've been demoted, as it were.
*Big pet peeve (I have waaay too many pet peeves-- it's a personal problem I'm working on): dead fish handshakes. A limp, dead handshake, to me, is the same as saying:
"It's so NOT nice to meet you."
"I'm scanning the room for the nearest sink to wash my hands as soon as this handshake is over"
"I'm a wimpy pansywaist who feels awkward and uncomfortable even when I just talk to myself."
A handshake is meant to be good and firm. It mirrors the smile on your face. You can even do that prissy side handshake some women do, as long as you squeeze firmly and smile. But still know that I don't prefer it.
*Few quirky things about me (we don't even have that kind of time for all) : I'm left-handed, I have two left-handed children, don't even think about touching my insanely ticklish feet because I kick. Hard., I'm embarrassingly allergic to everything hay fever/dust related and consequently sneeze insane amounts of times, rub my eyes half my life, and itch my face the other half (have you ever had the back of your throat itch to the point of insanity?), I love all food except for really fishy fish (I believe fish should taste like chicken.), I have an absurd paranoia of big pieces of spinach in my teeth when I'm eating with groups of people, I think citrus-y smells, particularly grapefruit, are what heaven would smell like, and finally,
all posts should have a picture. Preferably more than one.
I'm in the striped purple shirt. That elephant belt is boss.