It’s my birthday today. ”Which birthday”, you politely ask? As I told my children this morning, “4 plus 8, you do the math”. The answer twelve confused them but it was fine by me. I considered it a teachable moment.
My friend Bill just Facebooked me the fact that I share a birthday with Osama bin Laden. Wow, as I told him, great. I had always been disappointed to have missed Hitlers birthday by a month and ten days. Why am I telling you all this? Well, like all birthdays past the age of those cakes that had real nude Barbie in the middle sporting frosting skirts and bodices, this one is more about getting older than getting loot and eating sweets. And when you have to do the dishes on your day of birth, and mediate fights between children and have your own fight with your spouse…I’ll just stop there. Now that I think of it, there was always something racy about the idea that your birthday cake was housing a naked girl. Even if she did smell like plastic.
In celebration of Osama’s birthday, I just wanted to talk about a few things I’ve learned in my 12 years. And a few good bits of advice I’ve been given. So here we go:
1. My friend Kerri says that you get one face lift. That one face lift will make you look better and any subsequent facelifts will make you look like a freak.
2. Small boobs DO sag. Not like big ones but they do. I am the possessor of a set of small boobs. So small that when I was a Junior in high school, I walked into the lunch room to find a note on the cafeteria table that said “Jenny Lairds tits are as big as Samantha Gault’s nipples”. IT was tough to take. I will point out however that my boobs, useless since the group that seems to care most about boobs are prepubescent boys and Hugh Hefner and I’m too old for both, my boobs are still quite perky and I guarantee that Sam Gault’s require some sort of pulley system . But mine are not what they were when they were the size of Sam Gaults nipples.
3. Moderation is probably good. As my friend Mary said once, with a very straight and worried face, “I never want to be an alcoholic. I’d hate to have to quit drinking.” So that’s the deal. Walk right up to that line of excess but never cross it. That way you can indulge in all the bad behavior you want and never have to spend a fortune at the Betty Ford spa. Imagine the tragedy of all that money, endless time to exercise and self obsess, good therapy sessions, some decent food you didn’t have to cook and two weeks or more without the kids. But not a drop of wine to complete the experience. Not fun. Keep that in mind when you pour your fourth glass.
4. I was chatting on the phone with my fabulous, city dwelling gay friend Gene who just can’t get over the fact that I live in the suburbs and, in fact, like it. As we chatted and I walked toward the school to pick up the kids I suddenly spotted one of the most handsome young studs I had ever seen pumping the Village sewers. ”Oh, my gosh, Gene.” I said into the cel phone “You should see the sewer pumper. He’s gorgeous.” Gene, turning the word suburban into profanity, responded by saying, “Well, you’re the suburban housewife. Go seduce him. Isn’t that what people DO in suburbia.” I thought for a second and then pointed out to Gene that, thank god, I was now old and wise enough now to look at the handsome sewer pumper…and just see a lot of laundry. Men equal laundry. So pick who you sleep with based on that.
5. Men like butts. Men like bigger butts than women think they do. Black men like even bigger bottoms. Hispanic men, larger still. And Arab men….which brings me back to Osama. No, it doesn’t.
6. My friend Polly said one day “I don’t think she liked me once she found out I read “Helter Skelter” when I was pregnant.” Now this has nothing to do with anything other than being hilarious. And since it’s my birthday I’m just going to put this in here. So there.
7. One more Pollyism. When told she looks amazing for her age, which is 57, she replied that, yes, she considered herself a ten in her age group.
Happy Birthday to me. I think I’m going to go downstairs and bake my own Barbie cake. And one for Osama. With a big big frosting ass.
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