My Sunday Birthday

Me, just short of 31 years ago.

I'm not a fan of Sunday birthdays.

It's really quite unreasonable of me. But I like the bustle of making an ordinary day special -- you know, waking up for work, but remembering it's not only a workday. And then the pleasantness of having all of your coworkers wishing you well!

Fridays, I believe, make for the best birthdays. An ordinary day turns special, and then you can celebrate at night with no worries about the next day's alarm. Lovely.

But a Sunday birthday is little better than any old Sunday, especially when it's as hot as my 31st birthday yesterday was. I spent the day surrounded by fans, futilely resisting an afternoon nap. We were going to go to Central Park and rent a boat, but it was too hot, and anyway, it looked like rain.

Instead Paul and I went to a pie place I'd been wanting to try forever about three miles north of here (more about that in another post). And really, birthday pie is much better than birthday cake, right?

As I write this all down, I realize I have little to complain of - woe is me, with my pie and birthday nap. Maybe I'll even come to look forward to a Sunday birthday by the time the next one rolls around.