Yesterday was my birthday and I'd had a pleasant day planned that crumbled to nothing when Jas decided to be off school sick the day before and still not healthy enough for school after 24 hours of skiving (I'm such an insensitive mother), so as I lay in bed before my alarm went off (why, when I can have an extra 30 minutes sleep do I always seem to wake up before my alarm would normally go off?) I considered how old I was.
You'd think I'd remember by now, like back when you're little and you count up the months so that you can add on 3/4 or 1/2 to your paltry sum of years, but no, I usually have to think of the year I was born (1965) try to remember what year it currently is and then subtract one from the other...
Yesterday morning was easy because with the current year ending in a zero means my age must end in a 5 (I know it'd be simpler to just remember how old I am) I wasn't amused by the realisation that I can now consider myself to be halfway to 90...just as I shall now be avoiding clicking any age boxes in questionaires that put me into the 45-55 bracket...at that point I could have sunk into a real depression with the thought that I was probably half way through life without having achieved my goals, except that I've never really had any goals, my motto has always been to enjoy life, I've never aspired to be a world famous scientist making earth shattering and life enhancing discoveries, I'll be happy if I'm happy, shallow eh? But achievable.
Anyway my birthday was as pleasant as it could be, what with a husband half the world away in Hong Kong and not due home for another 10 days and the younger child threatening to hurl, pretty presents were gratefully recieved, I went and bought my own cake (and ate it too), flowers were delivered (this almost NEVER happens, but I like it, I like it alot - please take note; the quickest way to make me smile - buy me flowers) and as Jas managed to keep the contents of her stomach internal and seemed to get perkier as the day progressed I went out for a few birthday-tinis at Lulus with friends.
Last night I discovered that 3 martinis is my limit, 4 is at least a half a 'tini too many. We had an entertaining though with a long conversation about the problems with outlaws (Rebecca's in particular) travelling through Europe with rogue TomToms and vomiting children, just how endemic is the drug culture in the UK and in Germany, the change in the UK driving test which means that Ian's daughter will probably be stuck on a scooter for the rest of her life (memory like a goldfish apparently) and the difficulties in learning German (expats always discuss this at some point in any conversation) but also the fun that there is to be had when listening to foreigners speak English - Ian and Kamesh were discussing favourite tipples when a German colleague started to listen in and so they asked her what she liked to drink and she responded with "I like 'sex on the beach'", now I'm quite sure that a native English speaker wouldn't confess to this being their favourite cocktail (unless they were 3 sheets to the wind or wanting to be provocative, but she was neither) but I guess to a non native 'sex on the beach' is only the name of a vodka & peach schnapps cocktail much like 'slippery nipple' is a Baileys & sambuca mix as opposed to a suggestive comment, I'll stick to martinis!