MOIST, WITH CHERRIES

You'd think that having a birthday would, at a certain age, be an almighty depressing thing. But if you just ignore it, it becomes like any other day. I did not mention my birthday to anyone yesterday and in consequence had a pretty enjoyable afternoon. As a child with what was at that time not yet phrased as "on the spectrum", birthdays were always a combination of overstimulation and severe disappointment.
At one party I hid under the table the entire time, invisible because of the tablecloth.
Missed out on the cake, but I didn't have to deal with any people.

Even today, birthday singing makes me cringe.
And I'm just no good at parties.


Naturally I had too much cake. It made me slightly queasy, and after a nap I walked it off.
A lovely chilly evening, somewhat foggy. Saw three young couples while out.
They looked very sweet.

Two years ago my doctor was so pleased when I mentioned that I was taking plenty of walks, and utterly crestfallen when he found out that every walk meant smoking my pipe.
As a man wearing a nicotine patch himself, it distressed him.
Sorry doctor, but at least I'm getting my exercise.
Keeps the guts and the head healthy.
Good for circulation.

The cake was good. Schwartzwalder kirshtorte. Like in the movie Young Frankestein.
Yummy, in fact. Imagine that 'mmmmm' sound.



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