Ironic, isnít it, that on the day I mark getting another year older, I eat the way I did when I was half my age? Which is to say, too much. But when all that good food is laid out in front of me, itís hard to remember that Iíve had that many birthdays. And if I eat very often the way I did today, I wonít have all that many more.
But hey, Iím not complaining. My stomach is complaining, and my head is a little woozy, but Iím content to play the old game where you celebrate one day and go back on your diet the next, pretending nothing has changed. And the company was as good as the food, and not nearly as fattening. If my family wants to remember that I was born, Iím not going to tell them no. Iím not above being the center of attention, as long as itís only one day a year. Or maybe one week a year.