Saturday, September 26, 2009
We are seated in the glorious dining room ay a big white table by the window. We are approached by our handsome waiter Paoul who asks us if we would like a drink with his sexy accent. We order drinks and receive a heavenly smelling bread basket. I open presents and cards. This is my fortieth birthday celebration and I feel like a queen! Paoul brings the drinks and we toast to my 40 years and to friendship.
I feel so at home here in this fancy restaurant. I am 40 and fabulous. I can forget about potty problems and lost library books. I leave my mommy jeans at home put on a nice dress and heels and seamlessly reenter the cultured adult world. I smile at my revelation as I reach for a piece of bread knocking over my wine glass sending a tsunami of red wine onto the table cloth and into my lap. (I do not make this stuff up.) I of course burst out laughing. My friends join in and we all laugh until we cry. I guess no matter how old I am or what I wear, and where I eat I am still just me. Happy birthday to me.