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Collective Malfunction
I am 30 on Saturday. Needless to say I share my birthday with the Queen, something which no end of people seem to find oh so amusing and think that their comment along those lines is something original (like the number of people I’ve been out with who start singing “Son of a Preacher Man” when they discover my father’s occupation).
But there we are. It has been thus for many years and I suspect it’s unlikely to change.
What has changed, however, is that two people - independently of each other - have transposed it by a week.
I received text messages from one of my exes on Saturday (who shall remain nameless to spare his blushes) who had gradually come to the conclusion during the course of the evening that my birthday was in a week’s time. “Yes it is,” I replied. “Why?”
“Oh, no reason,” he responded. “This Wyvils place is quite busy though isn’t it?”
I wouldn’t have thought much more of it really (apart from to idly drop in conversation when I do see him) but then I arrived at work yesterday, took my seat and almost jumped out of my skin when my boss, Chaz, crept up behind me and quietly sang the opening lines of “Happy Birthday” to me.
I was swift to correct the error. At which point my colleague Olivier gleefully rubbed Chaz’s nose in it still further with the accurate - if worryingly star-sign centric - cry of “You see! I told you! I told you he was a Taurus!”
But there we are. Two people in the space of two days have been oddly premature and I’m wondering if perhaps there’s something in this.
I’ve often felt I was born out of my time, I must say, but frankly to only be a week out of your time is more than a little crap.
Posted on April 17, 2007 | Filed Under My So-Called Life
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