So apparently the amount of flowers one receives for a birthday is related to the number on the birthday cage, for women at least. It seems the older a woman becomes, the more flowers she receives.
That, at least, is a very nice development. I used to buy my own flowers for my birthdays, because I always wanted to have lots of them and nobody ever gave me any. On Monday, I received five beautiful bouquets, plus some gorgeous yellow tulips cut from my friends’ garden. And presents on top of that!
I do enjoy my birthdays, I really do.
If you look closely at the presents, you’ll see a DVD set of Downtown Abbey (freshly sent from the UK from my youngest sister) – to judge my reaction to that, check out my post about my brain on obsession. Then there’s a postcard from my parents, all the way from Australia. A crumple-up street map of New York from a friend. “The White Tiger” by Aravind Adiga from my uncle (who has formed the rather startling habit of pressing random hardcover books into my hands every time I see him ever since he realized that I’m serious about that whole crazy idea of writing a book). A book with one hundred really cute ideas for crochet projects that my sister gave me – I’m only able to do very simple crocheting, but maybe this’ll help me learn something new. Oh, and let’s not forget the ubiquitous alcoholic offerings – among the sparkling wines and red wine and the self-made raspberry liqueur there is an actual bottle of real Champagne.
So yeah… between the flowers, the presents, my siblings, both the two present and the two who weren’t here, the beautiful, beautiful weather and a very spontaneous BBQ with family and friends in the evening, I had a great day, as birthdays ought to be.