“Mamma? You’re having a Strawberry Shortcake birthday. Right?” Hun? Where did she get this?
“Euh. I guess. I like strawberry shortcake. I didn’t really plan on having a great big birthday.” Or any for that matter.
“But you have to have a Strawberry Shortcake! It’s your birthday!” Didn’t realize the two were linked.
“OK.” A party? A theme party? I’m going to be 32, not 3.
“Mamma? Who’s going to carry your cake at your birthday?” A cake? We’re having cake?
“I hadn’t really thought about it. You and daddy?” The waiter at the restaurant?
“Oh no. I’m too small. Daddy can do it alone. But it’s not today your party.” Phew.
And just like that I’m having a party. A Strawberry Shortcake party. With cake, carried by M. Mmmmkay.
I dropped C off and didn’t dismiss the party from my thoughts. Maybe I do want a party. Maybe I want a fuss. Who says grown-ups can’t have fanciful cakes and streamers? Why should bubbles and candy be just for kids?
I want games and hats! I want a scavenger hunt and pin the tail on the donkey! I want to gorge myself on cake and ice cream until I’m sick to my stomach. I want to play with my friends until I’m grumpy from exhaustion and over stimulation. I want the kind of birthdays that makes my eyes light up with wonder. Heck! I want a pinata! Filled with Laffy Taffy and Jaw Breakers! And… and… Candy necklaces!
The years rush past, melting into one another. We grown-ups go to work on our birthdays. We go to the grocery store. We run every day errands. We forget to take 24 hours to celebrate ourselves, our year, our lives. We downplay the importance of the event and pretend it’s just a day like any other. But it’s not! Or at least it shouldn’t be.
So get ready. This year we’re partying it up on July 22nd. I’m going to be 32. Be there or be square. I’ll save you some Strawberry Shortcake hat. Say, do you want a piece of her hat or her stripey shirt?