The Day of my Birth

So I forget a lot of things. Once, I forgot my passport on a plane in a communist country. I often forget the names of things—like people I met 30 seconds before. Sometimes I even forget the names of my first cousins on my mom’s side (there are like 20,000 of them I think). But today, I forgot my birthday and THAT is something I’ve NEVER done before.

Granted, it was only for like ten minutes, but for a good ten minutes after US Airways abruptly awakened me for breakfast on my flight to London this morning, I was going about as if January 20th was any other day. I checked out the horizon, hoping to see land, I sniffed the suspicious looking breakfast bread thingy they gave us to eat, I rummaged through my bag in search of my mango flavored lipsmackers chapstick. The usual.

And then, from the row behind me, where Jenn had taken up camp because there were only like three other people on our flight, I heard a voice softly serenading me. “Happy Birthday to you... Happy Birthday to you…” I rather rudely interrupted her, shouting that it WAS my birthday! I was totally shocked that I had forgotten. I mean, granted, I would have remembered soon. Like, after I’d finished doing a thorough examination on that breakfast bread. But still, who forgets their own birthday?

And that is just one of the many reasons Jenn has made this day quite special. (It’s already 6 p.m. here!) We’re currently watching The Wedding Singer on TV while eating much cheese and grapes. Well, I am doing most of the eating if we’re going to be honest. And tonight, we have very big plans to go out to dinner and see what London has to offer on a Sunday night. However, considering that about 22 seconds after we walked into our flat a little while ago we both collapsed into jet lag/exhausting days of traveling naps, I have a feeling we won’t make it too far.

*If you’re one of the, well, one person, who reads my blog with any kind of frequency, you’ll probably note that my entries this week will have a bit of a different format. I’ll be doing a little more a journaling tone rather than storytelling. Capiche? Good.