OK. I admit it. I am a big baby when it comes to my birthday. Always have been, always will be.
Blame it on my mom.
She and my Grannie always went all out for my birthdays. I had HUGE parties when I was little -- cake, ice cream, Grannie's big white punch bowl. One year they rented a little kiddie carnival down the street.
Even once I got to be a "tween" my birthdays were EVENTS. I remember fourth or fifth grade. Mom said I could invite "a couple" of classmates. I invited them all. Lynn LeBouef gave a report the following Monday on, "Everything I ate at Lori's birthday party." We had petit fours and cake and little cups of ice cream. All these years later, people remember those parties.
(And you know Lora Leigh is going to be just like me!)
In sixth grade, it was the Donny Osmond party. Me and Belle Smith atop the stairs to the breezeway (that was our stage, like on Laugh In), dancing to the Osmonds. Rhett did the music. We wore the new fad that year -- Maxi skirts (Granny dresses).
My 16th birthday at Shakey's Pizza Parlour -- half of Terrebonne High was there.
My 17th birthday at The Lion's Share -- we put 18 candles on my cake so I could drink.
Then my first birthday at Loyola -- alone, in the dorm.
So, my birthday has always been the day of the year I look foward to.
So sue me. And I expect great things. I guess I expect too much. It hasn't always lived up to my great expectations.
Frankly, I just don't get all these people who claim to HATE their birthdays. OK. You're a year older. So what? You would prefer the alternative? I mean, you only get so many birthdays in this lifetime, and you don't know what that number is.
Then, it is the one day that all the people in your life think of you. Some call you. I know Janine will. Lou will. Jo will. Some send cards. But even those you haven't seen or heard from in years might remember you on your birthday. Hell, it was the ONE day of the year that my dad remembered to call me. And my brother. And I miss that ...
I know I remember the birthdays of people I haven't seen since grammar school. Sure, it's useless information now. But, I do think of them on that day.
Hopefully, some people think of me on March 8th.
And quite frankly, I don't mind getting older. I am 45 years old and proud of it.
For so long, I was "the Kid" or "The Girl in the Office." It's hard to be The Kid or The Girl when you're a 45-year-old broad.
So, happy birthday to me. Even though my boss did his best to screw it up. I have to drive two hours to Lafayette, spend hours in a boring all-state meeting, cover a basketball game, then drive home... Maybe I'll get a kiss from Lora Leigh before midnight.
Then it becomes March the 9th.
And that's another story completely!
