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Monday, September 26, 2016

Why I Love People Born in September.

It was my birthday yesterday, along with a lot of other people who have been celebrating on FB lately. 

 So many people celebrate their birthday in September. December is clearly the month for hanky-panky after all the Christmas spirit having been imbibed, probably leading to surprise pregnancies nine months later.

It’s a wonder everyone born in September doesn’t have foetal alcohol syndrome. Our mothers were probably off their faces when they conceived us, guys.

Or maybe we all do have it and we just don’t know it, because we have it.

Do I have it? You’d tell me if I did, wouldn’t you?

Oh well. What I don’t know won’t hurt me, I suppose.

It’s not funny really. I’m not making light of a serious subject. I’ve looked up the symptoms and I think I do have it actually and it’s why I have so many friends born in September. We’re flocking together.

Of course the most important thing about birthdays is the receiving of presents and these are the presents I received in no particular order of favourites.

Scotto had a portrait of my son (with my grand dog in it) put on canvas.

I can’t publish the photo because my son hates me putting him on the Internet and as he wasn’t born in September he probs knows better than I do.

My dogs gave me nothing which didn’t surprise me. Thankless bastards that they are.

My sister had one of my favourite wedding photos made into a decorative cushion which I really loved.

It was my wedding, btw. Not just my favourite, random wedding.

My Mum and Dad bought me a very large green tablecloth which I picked out myself and which I adore because it will cover my big wooden table where I’ve planned a lot of future Italian type family gatherings. (Certain members of the family are banned from sitting at the table unless they fold the tablecloth back because of their propensity to spill rum and cokes and flick smoldering ash. One of these family members was born in September… just saying.)

My five children (under the bossy guidance of my only daughter… thank God I had her because none of the boys would have had the impetus) arranged for a voucher from Stefan so I can have my sandy/beige foils re-done.

And even the government sent me a little present which was a lovely, totally unexpected honour.

Birthday Bowel Testing Kit!

We had a backyard party under the tree with all the animals attempting to steal food from the table and king parrots hanging around the pool fence.

The best gift was that my sister and her family came all the way down from North Queensland to celebrate with me.

Admiring her from across the table, I commented that my niece looks a bit like Audrey Hepburn. Mum pitched in that people used to say that about my sister, Sam, when she was young.

“These days, I just look like I ate Audrey Hepburn,” my sister complained bitterly.

I spat my champagne all over my new tablecloth at that one.

She’s a laugh, my sister. She was always described as the ‘beautiful’ sister by outsiders when we were kids. Now that I've figured out about the foetal alcohol syndrome thing I can finally accept why that was without feeling extremely vilified. 

I couldn't help the way I looked. 

It. wasn't. my. fault.

So… since my birthday last year I have sold and bought a house, resigned from my job of ten years and worked at five different schools, dined at almost every surf club on the Gold Coast, gained an extra five kilograms, taken up extreme bush walking, lost 2.6 grams and spent at least $2000 at the dentist who is seemingly collecting my extracted teeth to sell for a bucket load on the ivory black market.

I’ve also learned to find my way around the Gold Coast without using the GPS or ringing Scotto in tears, shrieking into the phone and hyperventilating that I’m “fudging lost again”. 

I wonder what the next twelve months will bring.

These are my three main goals:

1. Get a proper job.

2. Lose 4.9974 kg

3. Grow back my teeth.

Do you make goals on your birthday? Are you a September baby?