February 23, 2016
It’s my birthday (I’ll spare you the details of the digits — and since I won’t be eating any cake, there won’t be any candles to count and throw me under the bus — ha!). It’s been a weird and sort of miserable last few days. I caught some crud (which is somewhat rare for me because my hyperactive, allergic body tends to not only aggressively fight off foods, but also real foreign invaders, such as bacterial and viral infections — finally, a PERK of food allergies!). I’m slightly feverish, achy and snotty, and in no shape to slap on a party dress and celebrate. On top of that, it’s a Tuesday — not exactly the best day for a celebration, despite the fact that the nearby Harkins theater is playing Breakfast at Tiffany’s — for only one night. On my birthday! The hubby went off to work like he would on any other Tuesday, giving me a sweet kiss on the forehead and a promise of a rain check for a super-fun birthday as soon as I felt up for it. Not willing to let me birthday pass without proper acknowledgment, my parents dropped by to tie a couple helium balloons to the shrub, hand off a bud vase with freshly-cut roses from their backyard (which were lovely, despite not being able to smell them), and deliver some thoughtful gifts and a beautiful card, which I would open on the front porch — at a safe distance from them, so they could avoid getting my plague (my family is a bit of the Howard Hughes variety when it comes to staving off sickness, and who can blame them?!). I sat like a slug in the dusty chair on the porch and they smiled at me from about 10 feet away. Then mom ordered me back to bed (“Yes, mom. Okay, mom.” Mother always does know best.).
I crashed for a few hours, slathered on some essential oils, grabbed a pile of Kleenex…and met my mom and sister at the movies. In case you’re wondering (or downright judging, which I can’t blame you!), we sat in the very last row and had many seats between us and the next moviegoers, and I wore a fashionable plaid scarf over my nose and mouth like a Burberry bandit to keep from spreading my germs. I also wiped down the armrests and the plastic part of the seat in front of me with antibacterial wipes, leaving (hopefully) no trace of my flu-ish presence. The group of women in front of us coughed and hacked half the movie, so I wasn’t really worried about giving THEM anything, anyway.
Air-popped popcorn with coconut oil and sea salt, and my bottle of homemade kombucha coupled with Holly Golightly, hunky George Peppard, “Cat” and unparalleled girl time? Sounds like a great birthday to me (fever and all).