Today it's Monday. July 30th. That's 2 sleeps to go.
2 sleeps before the day of moi on August 1st.
And life, in its own inevitable manner, has thrown a spanner in the works.
You see, I have been quarantined since last Thursday with chickenpox.
I mean really. Chickenpox for goodness sake! Surely that's for children? That mysterious illness that mothers in my acquaintance are charged with managing in their various little ones. And then see fit to regale all in proximity about its trials and tribulations thereby forcing me to maintain my sympathetic and concerned face for longer than 5 minutes.
(I would like to point out here that I can do sympathetic and concerned but sustained effort in this area is not my forte. As my friends know, I can be brutal with my 'suck it up princess' philosophy of deaing with life's hard knocks.)
And yet here I am, forced to keep my own company, no-one to soothe my fevered brow while this virulent virus makes its way through the various stages of its frolic around my immune system. Snap!
This was not my plan. I had imagined quite a carefree week to finish my 42nd year on the planet. Filled with laughter, amusing repartee and kindly reminders of sleeps to go and shopping days remaining for you all.
But the spanner arrived. So I have focused on doing the right things and riding this sucker out in the hopes of being fit for company (read work) again come my big day. I mean I have birthday yummies to share and the alternatives sans company are either gluttony or waste. And while I am of the school of 'waste not want not' (or as my mother called it ' the starving children in Africa' who can quite frankly have ALL of my peas and brussel sprouts), a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips is definitely no fairytale.
2 sleeps to go peeps. Time for someone else to have the spanner.