It’s my birthday today. I’d love to say that the best present was the kisses and cuddles and bed-crumbs and 7am groin-kicks and scrambling pointy knees and elbows from the kids, but actually, it was in fact this:
from the wonderful talented Dede Gold, who I’m sure I’ve harped on about before. And to compound its fabulousness, it was accompanied by this:
which is hilarious in its precision (put a fringe on the mother, and you’ve got me to a T).
But the most exciting thing about my birthday wasn’t the school run, or wiping (human) poo (not my own) off the TOPOFMYFOOT, or getting my hair caught in a pencil and ripping a chunk of it out of my head; no, the best thing was discovering that – despite the poo and the sticky-up-hair and the early-morning fights with people 1/14th of my age – I STILL HAVE IT.
Oh yeah baby. I. Am. The. (Wo)Man.
I know this because a nice gentleman on the street told me. I was thundering past him, possibly muttering to myself, and he stepped out of the way and waved me past. As I went by and thanked him, he said – and I quote – “Oh yes my love, you’re GORGE.” And then, as the smell of pee wafted to greet me, he flourished his can of Tenants Extra-Strength in the air, did a merry little dance, and fell backwards off the curb.
Oh, and happy birthday to my dear Mum too. "Were you her best present ever?" the Boy asked this morning; I told him I was - but possibly only because she's never been given a Dede Gold original.