Every year, like most people, I have a birthday.
And every year, grateful to have made it through to the ‘next round’, I face the same battle between ‘call me Beyoncé’ and ‘well this is embarrassing, let’s pretend I’m not here and go back to our normal lives’
If this year is anything to go by (27), I am yet to find the balance.
Last year, I wrote about the embarrassing incidents that saw me through to 26 (you can read it here – Crappy Birthday) so I’d hoped this year would be more subtle and sophisticated …
There’s nothing subtle or sophisticated in somehow convincing your friends to go to a musical themed bar and then dropping your dental braces on the floor by accident when pulling out your ID, so now you’re soaking them in a glass at the table.
But the highlight of the weekend was visiting a Spice Girls Exhibition. If there’s something less ‘grown up’ than going to a museum about your favourite 90s pop band on your 27th birthday – it’s turning up entirely in leopard print, hungover and wondering why you remember every single lyric but can’t remember where you left your dignity.
My present to myself this year: don’t lose your inner child but for the love of your future children do sober up.