My faffing meant that I was home when the postman arrived. Nothing exciting really comes through the mailslot: just the usual assortment of bills to pay, flyers advertising things I could never imagine needing and To The Homeowner letters from local estate agents wishing to sell my little flat from underneath me. But today was different. As I whipped around, startled by the metallic clunk of the mail flap, I saw a flash of girly colour.
'Pink!', my little heart cried. 'Could it be...my first birthday card?'
And so it was.
Itinerant Father and Erstwhile Wife have won the Birthday Derby again, and although 2 days later than last year's stirling effort, getting in with 16 sleeps to go can only be vigorously applauded. (Sounds of wild cheering and me doing a little 'Hooray it's my birthday soon' dance around my postage-stamp-sized lounge room).
The card (we are allowed to open birthday cards pre-special-day in the Hamer clan) is a testament to their continued concern about my welfare in a faraway land and featured some handy hints for me to consider in my advancing years:
An ode to ageing gracefully
May your bum stay firm and pert
May your boobies not head south
May your lippy never blend
Into thin lines round your mouth
May you eat a ton of chocolate
But never gain a pound
May you always look your best
Whenever Brad Pitt comes around.
May you never wear big pants
Or grow unwanted hair
And Birthday Girl if all else fails
May you be to sloshed to care!!
Well, don't mind if I do! And I have 16 days to plan how...
Dad & Bev, thanks for the birthday tip and the lovely wishes.
ps...for a little more detail on the Birthday Rules according to the Hamer clan, click here...my sister sums it up so succinctly in her comment!
2 comments:
Okay, this is a little late but I was falling behind and decided to save your 'x number of sleeps to go' posts and read them together.
I don't know which I like more: learning that you can't shake or hold a present up to the light to help determine what it is (thanks to Chicky's explanation of Hamer rules) - OR - that faffing is really re-prioritizing. Now when I'm up against a deadline and not writing I shall declare that I am faffing. Er, re-prioritizing. You know what I mean.
Ha ha! I do a lot of faffing, I mean re-prioritising, I mean avoiding things I don't want to do. Ironing springs to mind and I am in serious danger of the whole big bag of it toppling off the top of the wardrobe (out of eye-line you see) and on to my head!
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