Another ‘come and gone’ birthday has just rolled by. Once you’ve successfully hurdled the mid-century mark, who wants to celebrate, right? (I have to admit, I haven’t been aging as gracefully as I’d hoped). Well, yesterday I realized something. I miss the celebration that was once so much a party of my birthday.
I’m still a bit of a stranger in paradise, here in Vermont. Most of my friends and all of my family still dwell on the west coast, so sneaking past another birthday unnoticed has been pretty easy to do.
So, on my way home from work last night, I felt compelled to ‘do something special’ for myself.
A massage? No, too late to make an appointment. Buy a great pair of shoes? No, no good shoe stores in sight. Take a warm bath and toast myself with some bubbly in the bubbly? No, too cliche. So, what did I choose? Ice cream.
Why ice cream? Apparently, I still harbor memories of childbood parties with ice cream, cake, friends, candles, lots of parties and being special for a day, and I perhaps it was some attempt to ‘celebrate’ with a tried and true friend.
The problem? I don’t really like cake, ice cream and candles anymore, and I really don’t eat refined sugar. Not that birthday cake and ice cream is a sin (it isn’t), but that kind of indulgence is rarely all it’s cracked up to be.
About halfway through my ice cream I realized, this isn’t as good as I remember…and to make matters worse, I woke up in the middle of the night and my immediate thought was, did I drink? Obviously, my body was sending me a very clear message…me no LIKEY ice cream. Oh, and, ‘you’re not 10.’
So the next time I reeeally want to do something special for myself, I’ll think it through a little bit more, prepare for my special day and really celebrate…Cindy style!