'Bushwhacked'
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
Huh. For some reason, the birthday topic doesn't seem to be sparking.
I have one, but it's well beyond depressing, and since I am not, at this precise moment in time, particularly depressed, I don't want to remember what I did on someone else's birthday on 24 February, 1976.
I know. We could change it to cake.
People like cake, right?
Cake or death?
Exactly!
thinks
uhhhhh..Cake!
.....so my choice is, or death...?
Cake or death?
That would depend upon whose death? Cause I have a little list...
He's a screaming three and a half year old. We dart after him, delighted. Turtles eating strawberries are new discoveries, seen through older new eyes, taking up hours. Simple toys made 60 years before him gain a new gloss. We are attacked with water and actually like it, just revelling in the bubble of uncontrolled laughter and triumph.
It's my birthday, and everyone has forgotten it. And I don't care.
I have a thought but it hasn't come to life yet. Erin, insent.
for the birthday challenge: My best birthday gift was not the most expensive, or lavish, or even the smutty underwear bought by my first love. In fact the cake was uneven and tilted, though covered with coconut frosting to match its German chocolate heritage. “We made it ourselves,” her daughter said proudly. “The cake, not the gift. Grandma made that.” For once, her words matched her wholesome face and we could all be on a cereal box together, despite not being family at all. The gift, tied with a red ribbon, was an afghan, replacing the one my friend moved to Tucson, a perfect match fot the new colors in my new room. A gift I got because someone listened is the best.