Sunday, January 08, 2006
Oh, and yes, my birthday party, at Goldies, was a good time, thanks for asking.
Nick and Trupe brought this giant cookie with "ITS YOUR SPECIAL DAY" written on it. When I had moved back to Arizona, I'd made it a point to visit Chicago as often as I could. Friends would ask, "what do you want to do?" I didn't care. I was just happy to be back. And frankly, I'd rather not be in charge of picking what we do. "But it's your special day." I don't want it to be my special day. Someone else decide where we should get dinner. "Nope. It's your special day." Stop it with the special day.
Somehow, "it's your special day" has haunted me ever since. Whenever no one wants to make a decision, it's suddenly my special day.
I liked the giant cookie, not just because it was funny, but also because it made me think, happily, that January 6th might be my last "special" day. Maybe, after you turn thirty, "it's your special day" doesn't apply to you any more.
Then again, after you turn thrity, maybe being decisive isn't the worst thing a person could ask of you.
