Today is my birthday and it has been a very quiet day. Hubby, who disdains birthday celebrations, did remember to say Happy Birthday to me this morning. Of course, I had mentioned twice yesterday that my birthday was the very next day. At church the congregation sang Happy Birthday to me. A friend from long-long ago surprised me with an e-card. My sister-in-law put in a long-distance call to me. Hubby did take me to a nice restaurant for dinner but we had to go late after a very long meeting following church where a lunch had been served -- and he ATE it.
Somehow, even when I know it won't ever happen, I always hope for a special, wonderful, surprising day. A day with cake and ice cream and balloons and a pile of packages just for me to unwrap. A day with a party and people laughing and hugging and concentrating on just making ME feel special.
Instead it really was just another day. I'm glad to have these days. I'm glad Hubby is around to share it with me. I'm glad the fur children are there being cuddly and loving.
But a little surprise would have been very appreciated, too. And a card to read, a present to open, a cake to eat. I feel sad and unnoticed and unappreciated. I'll be glad when the day is over and my outlandish expectations are put to bed for another year.
Happy birthday to me . . .