Birthdays are a funny thing with me. I have a love-hate relationship with my birthday. I was born on the 22nd of November. The only historical event that occurred on this day (that I am aware of at least) was the assassination of John F. Kennedy. Yeah, imagine... sharing a birthday with the anniversary of the assassination of a monumental historical figure. It pretty much set the tone for what my life was to be. To make matters worse, about every few years, my birthday falls on the fourth Thursday in November.... yes Turkey Day! So instead of a birthday party, I am jipped into sharing my birthday with a golden roasted turkey on Thanksgiving Day. And even if it didn't fall exactly on the fourth Thursday in November, since it is so close to Thanksgiving Day anyway, my birthdays were more about my mom practicing making a Thanksgiving Day feast and less about making my birthday cake. So I have always hated my birthday.
As I got older, I did have a few "terrific" birthdays, but they were few and far in between. Like the year I turned 17, I was in college and living in an apartment on campus. I had a big bash and about 30 of my friends came to celebrate the event which consisted of a keg, pizza, loud music, and dim lights. I don't remember much of that night, hence making it one of the best birthdays! A year later, my high school sweetheart proposed to me on my birthday and we were married for 13 years! The marriage ended in divorce, so the jury is still out on whether I should categorize that birthday under "teri-fic" or "teri-ble" (pun intended!). Moving on to the lesser "teri-fic" birthdays, I recall the worse birthday of all. Four days short of my 30th birthday, I was diagnosed with cancer. My birthdays have gone downhill after that. Most recently, on my 39th birthday, I had just gone out to lunch with my dear friend Betty and on my way home to celebrate the weekend with my husband. It was going to be the FIRST great birthday since that horrible one nine years earlier. My husband had worked to the bones to make it one of the more memorable birthdays. Two blocks away from the restaurant in which Betty and I had just had lunch, a couple of teenagers on a joy ride decided to hit my vehicle while I was stopped at a red light. I had minor injuries but because of my medical history, I was required to spend the next couple of days at the hospital getting tested for internal injuries. Yes, my birthday sux.
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