I don’t work on my birthday. I think it’s a basic human right to get your birthday off, like a floating bank holiday. Of course, I’m supposed to be keeping up the blog, so I have to do some work to get today’s entry done. Doesn’t mean I can’t do the bare minimum on my birthday though. I have something I wanted to post today, but it needs a redraft and I don’t want to put it up till it's ready. So instead, I’m going to tell a quick story, called Decorating.
So, Decorating, well when we were kids, mum was like a decorating Ninja. We’d go to sleep at night and by the morning she’d have wallpapered the entire house. The house would stink of wallpaper paste and we’d find we'd entered a world of gold fleur de lis all over the place.
My dad went to work one day and by the time he’d come home, mum had decorated. He shut the door behind him and sat down on the sofa and settled back to his read the paper.
My mum comes in and stands over him. He looks up over the rim of the paper and mum asks, “Well?”
“What do you think?”
“What do I think about what?”
He looks around him. This morning the walls were pale blue. Now it looks like a Regency ballroom.
“Have you?” he says. He never noticed stuff like that.
And that's the minimum required for this to constitute an entry, so I’m off to sleep through until Doomsday.
Get it done (just do it quietly)