Today is a “special” day, and as such I won’t be around.

Herself has marked it as “special” because it’s her 70th birthday.

I’m not quite sure what is so special about 70 years.  It’s not that different from 69 or 71 except that it has a zero on the end.  So I suppose if mankind had developed with only eight fingers instead of ten, she’d be celebrating her 106th birthday which is a bit more impressive?  There again, if she were a computer using hexadecimal counting she’d be a mere child of 46.  [Dare I point out that using Binary, she’s over a million years old at 1000110?]

Anyhows, I have been hearing rumblings for some time about this impending birthday which I have studiously ignored.   I keep pointing out that it’s just a number and for fuck’s sake get a grip woman, but that didn’t stop her dropping endless hints.

Then the Daughter got involved.  She takes after her Ma in that she tends to attach significance to these obscure things so she announced that today was going to be “special” and she was going to organise everything.  I hear nasty rumours that she is inviting all her friends [the daughter’s friends that is, not Herself’s] and that they are all going to arrive here as a big surprise sometime during the day.  Herself doesn’t like surprises so I warned her in advance, so she is now heavily dosed with Diazepam in preparation.  I’ll have to keep feeding her vodka and tablets until after the surprise.

So I am buggering off for the day.  I will leave the vodka and Diazepam in the bedroom where Herself is already semi-comatose.  I will probably hide in the garden shed with a book and a bottle of whiskey.

A present?

I let her get a cat, didn’t I?