Today is my 26th birthday.
But if you ask my Mom,
it doesn't really count until 8:42pm
when I was actually born.
No, seriously. We used to have this
giant birthday candle that was lit each year
and would burn down to your appropriate age.
I wasn't allowed to open presents until 8:42pm.
That's the champagne Hubs bought for my birthday dinner. We took it to a delicious Italian BYOB in town. That's Hubs in the background. That champagne, coupled with a few glasses of our favorite Rosenblum Syrah is most likely the culprit of my 26th Birthday Hangover. Awe-some. (Why is it that hangovers only get worse with age?)
As I sit here and ponder my previous 25 years, does this mean that I am no longer in my mid-twenties? Is that a title reserved only for your 25th year? It seems strange, in just one single day, to have crossed that imaginary chasm suddenly thrusting myself into my late-twenties?
But in either case, I'm happy, I'm blessed and it's bound to be a great 26th year.
Especially because there's really only one day a year when you can run around calling yourself The Birthday Princess and not be considered a total whackjob.