Today is my birthday. Please, no presents (obviously I don't mean that: the ODT will be happy to provide a forwarding address - for large items a courier charge may apply).
Turning 33 again is a yearly ritual, teaching much to the birthday girl, especially the canny application of makeup and how to avoid the people with whom you went to primary school.
Thirty-three is a lovely age.
Well, it wasn't for Jesus, but almost everyone else finds it so, an age of self-reflection at the height of one's mental and physical powers.
Pretending to be turning 33 again can also be quite exhausting though, as you have to ascribe new dates to events that happened in your childhood.
CHiPs becomes a hit television show in the 80s, ABBA, flares, afros...everything has to move forward and with my Dyscalculia (an inability to count, a nightmare if you take a contraceptive pill) complicating things, I'm surprised I know what floor I'm on.
In fact I often don't.
A little advice for any man wondering how to inquire about the age of a woman.
First, I'm assuming you absolutely must do this - that the lady in question has been hit by a bus and you are obliged to supply particulars to the emergency services.
All right, ready?Look at her shoes, are they expensive? She is over 30.
Next, roll her unconscious body over.
Did everything move in the direction of the roll? She is over 35.
Now, pick a number (aim low) and halve it.
Well done.
With age comes wisdom, of a sort.
With age, too, comes magnanimity, so I'm prepared to share the things I have learnt thus far:A boyfriend isn't just for Christmas.
There is no such thing as being a little bit pregnant.
If someone with poor impulse control says, "I'll never show this to anyone", don't believe them.
Some women are just horrible.
You can't be everyone's friend and guess what? You don't have to be.
A man who loves musicals and fashion as much as you isn't for marrying.
In my 20s, I lost friends to drink-driving, over-use of their favourite substances, and stupidity.
In your 30s, you spend more time giving things up and repairing the damage of youthful hedonism than you ever did enjoying it.
Bah! Tonight, it's safe to say, drink will be taken and a toast made to those who couldn't make it to my advanced age.
While it might be tempting to survey the wreck of time and say, "Oh woe", to another year, it's a damn sight better than the alternative.
And you just have to accept that, if not already achieved, there are some life goals that aren't going to be; further, that once a number of years have passed (and the skin has lost a certain degree of elasticity), some things just can't be accomplished: childbirth without stretch marks, marriage without sympathy, skateboarding, mini-skirts.
"Is this a significant birthday?" asked a friend, whispering across the cafe table, as if it was terminal.
Well, it all depends on the calendar year you follow.
According to the Mayan calendar I've had more b'ak'tuns than anybody ought, but going by the luni-solar almanac, I'm a total eclipse.
So, cheers! - to my lovely friends and family, who make life so worthwhile, who laugh when I tell them the latest episode in the serial disaster that is my life, or offer consolation when short, balding men are mean to me.
And while we're at it, a toast to the selfish clods who remind you just how precious lovely friends are.
Even jerks are a vital part of life's rich tapestry, and mine's starting to look like the Bayeaux.
One day soon, I might even grow up.
