Happy Birthday to Me!

It’s ma birthday this week!

When I say this week it’s because I’m going to stretch the bloody thing out (in my usual attention seeking manner) into a seven day rollercoaster ride of gorging, drinking and dizzy hedonism. 

However, before commencing my ‘ramblings of an old mad woman’ (quote: Greggles), I’d like to thank my Mum.

Not for having me, but for NOT calling me Dorothy. My mother’s name is Dorothy you see, as well as both of my grandmothers. Imagine how confused my father must have been when they were all in the same room.

“Can I get you a cup of tea Dorrie? Dot? Dorothy?”

Being the first born you’d expect I would have copped Dorothy at least as a second name, but no. I thankfully escaped.

Another year older… another year closer to death, eh.

I know. Stop being morbid Pinky… anyway at least the extra years haven’t affected my level of maturity, as many will verify.

The evening before Pinky’s Special Day, Scotto took me out to dinner at a restaurant built over the water. I haven’t dined there for about thirty years and walking through the door transported me straight back to the Eighties. I swear the décor hasn’t changed at all and I’m fairly certain I spied someone eating a prawn cocktail. After my mouth-watering barramundi and Scotto’s huge meaty steak we both struggled out to the car groaning, loosening our belts and bemoaning our piggy excesses.

                       (L to R) Shazza, Rach, Ash, Emmsie, Kaz)

Yesterday (the big day) I went to lunch with the girls at my fave restaurant, Longboards. Notably absent was our little friend, Kyles who is away on holidays. If you’re reading this Kyles… don’t worry, we talked about you A LOT!

We met up with Greggles who was out celebrating his brother Matty’s birthday and moved to the beer garden across the road. 

Matty and I had quite a loud, sozzled conversation about how people born on September 25 are special, talented and wonderful people because they were conceived on Christmas day. The others eventually told us to shut the F up and that we were probably both conceived in a drunken mistake on New Year’s Eve and that’s clearly the reason we drink too much.

                        Pinky and Matty: Two very 'special' people.

By about 5:00pm I called Scotto to come and collect me. 

Actually, Shazza rang him,

“Hi Scotto, Shazza here. Pinky’s too p#ssed to call you and she’s serving herself drinks behind the bar again… you know, like she did at last year’s staff Christmas party. You need to come quickly.”
Luckily he can take a joke. 

By about 7:00pm I realised that only ONE of my FIVE ingrate children had acknowledged my BIRTHDAY!

There was only one thing to do… send them all a well-oiled, b#tching text message. 

“I must have been a twerrible mudda that none of youse remembered my bloody birfday!!!!!!!!”

Then, with all the emotion of a legless p#sspot, posted an attention seeking, sook message on my Facebook wall.

Turning off my phone, I tearily huffed off to bed with no dinner. I fell into an instant coma, not moving for five hours until I awoke at 3:am and drank several buckets of water.

This afternoon I’m going for celebratory drinks and snacks with my sister Sam.

Should be fun! Remember, we never really grow up, we just learn how to behave in public!