It’s a blue sky day. This is kind of turning into a long weekend of celebration. What’s the etiquette on birthdays around here? It seems silly to announce you’re to be a year older, to actually hang a tile out that says ‘This much nearer to hopelessly gray and wrinkly!’ unless there’s some sort of cost/benefit equalizer in the form of presents.
I’ve often demanded presents of my readership, and have been mostly disappointed. You all seem to have a stubborn,, unrelenting non-present policy. The only somewhat successful ploy so far was that time I said ‘No dead squirrels’ and suddenly everyone had a dead squirrel to give away.
So since I’ve made the deep, exhaustive sacrifice of announcing my onward march to hagdom, I think I must once more attempt to wring presents from my shiny bright but miserly weebles.
Even though Monday is my birthday, there is no need to give me presents, truly. If you should fill my comments section with poems, youTube messages, and moose pictures, that would be nearly as bad as dead squirrels. So don’t even think about giving me presents, my sweet, darling weebles. I am, after all, only your faithful writing servant trudging wearily and dedicatedly on to old, old, old, old age.