Yeah, I know it’s not cool to draw attention to self centered celebration, blah blah blah. But the truth is I don’t follow rules. I run with scissors; I don’t always use my hand signals when I ride my bike; I jay walk: I’m a rebel.
And this is an important Birthday.
|You're how old?**|
Nah, it’s not the big three-Oh. That one came and went with a whimper. No, today I turn 33 (I know, I just told the world how old I am! Talk about breaking rules! Next I’ll confess my weight—or not). So at this point you’re all wondering what could possibly be so great about 33? After all, 30 and 35 seem like bigger better ages to be all uppity about, but I’m strange.
Most people count 7 as their lucky number, but not me. Mine is 3, but since I didn’t really figure out that my lucky number is 3 until well after my third birthday, I’ve been waiting a while to get to the decade of threes. And this is the luckiest so far, it has two threes!
Okay, I’m not really that superstitious.
I mean really, do you know how unlucky it is to be superstitious?
**that's not just some random horse. That's my sister's horse Romeo.