Today marks the twentieth anniversary of my 21st birthday.
Just look at that blonde flicked hair. Farrah who?
I returned from my run this morning to the sight of four sleepy, smiling faces lined up on the verandah, shouting gleeful birthday messages. Dad had left at four, but did wish me a happy day upon departure, leaving only four to spoil me. Sarah made coffee, Jessie scrambled eggs. There was a card from my big girls:
Sally presented me with this hand-made neck-a-lace
that I'm going to wear out tonight with this little number pulled from the far recesses of the wardrobe.
Just the thing for an ICPA Dinner tonight. Purple's the new black. At least it was seven years ago when I bought it. Wallace in tears, explained he yet again hadn't made me anything. His sisters explained he had all day to make amends, with that he disappeared to return some short time later with this strikingly life-like miniature replica of myself, complete with string to hang from the rear-vision mirror of my car.
I'm just hopeful they don't start spearing pins into her when they're told they aren't coming out with us tonight.