Solzhenitsyn and Virginia Woolf books. Six cocktails, two bottles of bubbles (the latter shared across the table). A menswear voucher that was too generous, but will very happily be spent.
Debt forgiveness from the parentals – there wasn’t much left on that particular bill, but every bit counts. A personalised voucher book, for things such as deep hug of at least thirty seconds, pizza and Netflix night, and an entire conversation with friend specifically not including her love life.
And enough offers of dinners, both home made and out and about, that I could extend the birthday celebrations from a week to a month, perhaps even an entire season lol.
But no, even though swag was gratefully received, my birthday was never really about that. It was the human connections I have with others, enjoying their company, appreciating their love, building a history.
While at the same time pretending to be blase and cynical about all that stuff that’s really important.
Insert rose coloured montage to Green Day’s Time Of Your Life here. 😆