Ironic, isn’t it, that on the day I mark getting another year older, I eat the way I did when I was half my age? Which is to say, too much. But when all that good food is laid out in front of me, it’s hard to remember that I’ve had that many birthdays. And if I eat very often the way I did today, I won’t have all that many more.

But hey, I’m not complaining. My stomach is complaining, and my head is a little woozy, but I’m content to play the old game where you celebrate one day and go back on your diet the next, pretending nothing has changed. And the company was as good as the food, and not nearly as fattening. If my family wants to remember that I was born, I’m not going to tell them no. I’m not above being the center of attention, as long as it’s only one day a year. Or maybe one week a year.

It wasn’t all about eating, of course. There was also drinking. And presents! I won’t catalog what I got, because that would be wrong, but I will say that I was treated very well by all involved. And it’s not over, because my birthday week has just started. And I’m very grateful for every trinket and bauble and good wish I already got or will get. Also, every taco and every slice of banana cream pie (but that part of the celebration is over, and none too soon).