On January 24 I woke up determined to have a good day. I turned thirty-one. It was a Wednesday and due to my being a responsible adult, I went to work like a responsible adult would.
I made no announcements it was my birthday at the office, though, when I was asked by a few co-workers how I was, I secretly revelled in declaring it.
By lunchtime my secret was out and a cake had been ordered for the receptionist to pick-up. This was a pleasant surprise. The rules of the last company I worked for dicatated that the birthday celebrant buy their own cake to share with the rest of the office. Yes, you read that correctly. BUY THEIR OWN CAKE.
Cheesecake it was! And it was high in fat, cholesterol and utterly delectable. Everyone who gathered around was made aware the cake was for me and many congratulations were directed my way. A few co-workers joked "ah, 21 are we?" (which I didn't think was funny the first time, let alone the third) and office politics commanded I giggle. In response I said, "yes, plus 10!", which to my astonishment received a snicker or two. Revealing my age left most people in disbelief, a gift in itself.
Of course work took second priority to answering the happy birthday emails and texts from family and friends. It was about as good of a work day as it could have been.
Just over a week previous I had made reservations for my birthday dinner at Los Amates on Johnson Street in Fitzroy. I had heard rumours the food was exceptional, in particular, anything lathered in mole sauce.
I dressed in my beautiful new blue dress and was escorted to the restaurant. I was spoiled by friends this year. The stunning blue dress, an orchid, a maple, a wondrously crafted illustration of two friends and I, shimmering body lotion, a book shop gift card, chocolates, a bottle of wine, a photo frame, balloons and streamers, and the absolutely fantastic Kitty Kake!
The food was devoured, the cinnamon-kissed sangria was swallowed, and the company mingled without effort. I had a stupendous 31st.
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