Last year was the first (but hopefully not the last) time I had a date for my birthday. My birthday last year was amazing. It started the night before, when my ex and I said “I love you” for the first time. After work, he picked me up wearing a suit, and took me out for an exquisite dinner at a fabulous restaurant, and gave me a beautiful necklace, which I wore every day until he gave me a ring. (Then I wore the necklace maybe three or four times a week.) Haven’t worn it since the breakup.
This year does not appear to be a likely candidate for my second time to have a date on my birthday, since I’ve had one date in the last three or four months, just before Passover, and he never got in touch again after Passover. And I’ve given my phone number to two different JDate guys, both of whom I thought had potential, neither of whom has actually called — or even e-mailed — since I offered up the digits. (And in both cases, he had asked for my number. I wasn’t being forward or intimidating.)
But anyway. I have no actual plans for the day of my birthday. I am having my annual birthday party (one of these years I’ll figure out a way to have my birthday occur with greater frequency than just annually!) on the Saturday night after my birthday, so I am taking off that Friday from work to bake and clean and — perhaps — relax.
So my birthday this year will be less fairytale and more prosaic. As long as it’s not O.Henry, I suppose…