Nothing, nothing so far has been good about turning 30.
I mean, come on you lunkheads, I'm 30! It's a great milestone for me, because I have got so far purely on the basis of a bad temper and some smatterings of talent (for not falling down and breaking my neck or getting stuck in a building on fire).
Golu is out of town. Dad and Mum didn't drop by to wish me; they would have but I forbade it on grounds of good manners, then felt that I should have told them to come because this is my first birthday away from them. Sriram chatted with me only to tell me two pathetic sardar jokes.
Precisely 10 people have wished me since this morning. Which is great, because "Hi, Happy Birthday! So,what plans today? What, working even on your birthday?" conversations are okay till like, the second caller is done. The last straw was when Prash invited me out for lunch and the two of us waded through pizzas and garlic bread and spoke about all kinds of junk, but not once did he wish me because HE FORGOT MY BIRTHDAY.
Okay, I didn't ask for a custom-made happy birthday-singing committee because you know I hate having attention drawn to me. But come on, people, blatantly forgetting my birthday is rotten manners. Prash and everyone else who forgot, no birthday present for you this year, whenever your birthdays are. (When is Prash's birthday, I wonder...)
Am now pinning my hopes on the hubby (who did wish me) to come home a bit early so that we can at least make an effort to go out and eat.
Never thought I would have to hope for THIS much when I turned 30.