It's that time of year again. My birthday. I so love my birthday. (Please note the sarcasm.) Some people don't like their birthdays because they dread getting older. I don't. I don't mind another year older and another year wiser...my hair can't get much more grey. I don't like my birthday because I have what I believe to be called The Birthday Curse. I think it started when I was younger and my dad, it seemed, was always out of town on my birthday. Nothing truly terribly horrid has happened on my birthday, just little yuckies that add up to the curse.
I've heard of others who have had much worse cases of The Birthday Curse...including a kid who began his curse with a hurricane devistating his hometown on his special day. He went on to have a dolphin at a theme park bite him on his birthday (making National Headlines) one year. Last year this poor boy thought he escaped The Curse, as the day passed without remarkable weather or personal injury. But, one of his birthday gifts was ice skating lessons, and he broke his leg in the first 10 minutes of the first class.
So, it could be worse.
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