Jesus Killed My Birthday"Damn it, Jesus, why did you close Best Buy?" We're driving around after dinner on Easter Sunday--my birthday--and nothing is open.
Fry's. Best Buy. Barnes & Nobles. Borders. Target. Home Depot. All closed. With every store we passed, I suddenly remembered five more things I needed and couldn't get.
I have incredibly low expectations for my birthday. I don't expect anyone to pay attention to me. At the same time, though, no one can expect me to pay attention to them. It's a tricky birthday needle to thread: not more attention for me, but less attention for everyone else (Eli 8.8 excluded).
In pursuit of the low-expectations-but-entirely-acceptable birthday, I have one guiding principle: avoid the goat rodeo.
This last week, though, was Grandparent's Day at Eli's school, so Gloria's mom came down for four days. She left on Saturday, then Easter was today, so goat rodeo #1 was followed immediately by goat rodeo #2. Oh, and Tuesday? Painters are coming to paint four rooms over a four-day period. Goat rodeo #3.
If a UPS driver shows up with a monkey, I'll just nod, point to a corner, and say "Put him over there."