At the completion of “Anne Frank” tonight, the Van Daan family disbanded, officially, after our last goodbyes to fur coats, and quarrels, and jokes, and suffocating Jewish mom-ing.
…I no longer live in an attic, have a husband who goes toe-to-toe in every argument, flirt with everything in pants, sleep on a ply-board bed, and (literally) cry over spilled milk.
…I also lost 13 years in age, automatically.
…For about an hour and a half…
…Until it officially clicked over into my Birthday.
…And then I gained a year.
Our “Anne” (born on the same day), seated next to me, was watching the clock like a hawk.
I think the joy of turning 14 must far outweigh the joy of turning 33. Either that, or I’m doing it wrong.
…I’m pro’bly just suuuuper tired.
(For no twelve reasons I can think of at all.)
…So with a ta-ta to the casties, I snuggle into bed, hoping that morning brings better weather, a gooder feeling throat, and that Mrs. Johnson (who so generously waited until just now to arrive) will behave herself and let me get some sleep.
…We hope.
Also, would it have killed her to at least bring a card or bottle of alcohol? Not that I remember sending her a BD invite to begin with. She’d only abuse it if I didi.
…You just can’t be nice to some people.
~D
