Growing up, the biggest and greatest part of birthdays was ordering what kind of cake would appear magically on the dining room table in the morning. I always went for something that wasn't tasteful, like green and purple, red and orange, that kind of thing. I didn't know about food coloring and thought that my mother was proving her love and her culinary abilities by producing these amazing, not-found-in-nature combinations. And there were always ballerina candleholders and hard sugar flowers. Yes, little-girl birthdays in our house were occasions of magic.
Today, I spent my 44th birthday engaged in "a rigorous program of nasal douching."
I do not believe anything further needs to be said on the subject of middle-aged girl birthdays.
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