Happy Birthday to Taylor Swift!
And to me.
Taylor is a perky 22 years old today. She’ll probably celebrate at a hip club with catered gourmet food and a fancy three-tiered ganache frosted cake which will mostly go to waste because she and the rest of the brat pack will only take tiny slivers of it so they can maintain their Hollywood hottie bodies.
I am turning The-Age-That-Must-Not-Be-Named.
There will be no hip club or gourmet food. I will take a honkin’ slice of my superstore bakery birthday cake and eat it with huge scoops of delicious Aggie ice cream because I’m past the hottie body stage. Plus, according to numerous billboards posted between Logan and Salt Lake, I can laser my body back to 1999 anytime I want to, if I can just come up with thousands of dollars.
Taylor isn’t the only special person I share my birthday with.
It’s my older sister’s birthday too. Because we look, talk and act so much alike my mom says we were twins three years apart. I’m not sure how that works, especially since there is another sister squeezed in between us. But, I know my sister felt super lucky to receive her very own indentured servant for her third birthday. I surrendered anything of mine she thought was of use to her, ironed her blouses and skirts for dates and church, scratched her back until my arm went numb, played board games with her until the wee hours of the morning when she had insomnia, and let her use my leg as a napkin at the dinner table.
When we were kids I hated sharing my birthday with her. She was always turning the cooler age – 13 to my 10, 16 to my 13, 18 to my 15. Each birthday brought her more independence and privileges than I had at the time. By the time I got my ears pierced or started dating and driving, she’d already been there, done that and was on to some other fun milestone.
She always chose to have a chocolate cake and I don’t like chocolate cake. I love chocolate, just not in cake form for some reason.
But life has a way of evening things out. When she turned 30 I was only 27. When she turned 40 I was only 37. When she turns 90 I’ll only be 87. And today as I turn 40 she is well into her forties at a whopping 43.
Whenever I get depressed thinking of Taylor Swift partying on good knees with a crows-feet-free face, I can turn my thoughts to my sweet old sister who gives me the greatest birthday gift each year with the knowledge that on our special day she is three years closer than I am to finding out there is no Social Security left.
Happy Birthday Tanna Banana! From Kar’ The Pear!