I'm supposed to be writing about my favourite birthday today, but here's the thing... I avoid my birthday, and choose to mostly ignore it. When I was younger, and believed in things like superstition, I used to think that September the 25th was a cursed day in general for me. A myriad of horrible things have happened to me on that day, year after year. I've had nastiness across the spectrum, from a seagull pooping on my French-braided hair at lunch time in high school, to learning the news of my grandfather's terminal cancer.
The last few years haven't been bad at all, consisting mostly of relaxed dinners with The Boy, followed by ice cream cake from DQ. However, I still don't like doing anything very interesting or exciting enough to warrant calling any of my birthdays as my favourite. I enjoy other people's birthdays, love baking cakes, cupcakes, and all manner of special treats for my friends and family on their birthdays, but having a big to-do for myself... meh. Not my thing.