An important way we measure our transitory existence here are birthdays. I don’t think enough is made of such events - not as regards me mind you - but as an overriding concept. At birth, the very first thing said about you has to do with sex. At my fifth celebration, I choked on a potato chip and, seven years ago, the woman I was living with marked the occasion not at all - not even so much as a howdy-do. But most of my Special Days have been swell. One was spent in Paris and another in London with posh doings on GE’s dime.
© 2024 John Oliver
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