“Of course, I don’t do birthdays,” – an acquaintance of mine once told me.
“One reaches a certain time in one’s life when all you see of a birthday is another day closer to death. Who wants to be reminded that that little unpleasantness gets ever nearer?”
I purred in sympathy, but I’ve always regarded birthdays as brilliant. An extra helping of Whiskas, a few more cuddles – who could complain?
It helps, too, that I actually have nine lives. And as I’m only two down, another day closer to death doesn’t apply yet.
“One reaches a certain time in one’s life when all you see of a birthday is another day closer to death. Who wants to be reminded that that little unpleasantness gets ever nearer?”
I purred in sympathy, but I’ve always regarded birthdays as brilliant. An extra helping of Whiskas, a few more cuddles – who could complain?
It helps, too, that I actually have nine lives. And as I’m only two down, another day closer to death doesn’t apply yet.
