MY DAMNED BIRTHDAY
My b’day’s always been on MayDay, but this year it means it. I don’t want to be a total drama queen, but face it…I’m not intellecual or artiste or family type. I’m an athlete and a professional hottie. What I’ve always had going was looks and a perfect body that would do anything I wanted it to. It may be superficial, but that’s always who I’ve been and it’s worked for me. I’m the Golden Girl with the perfect skin and perfect bod. If I’m not that, who am I?
Well, when you hit thirty, you have to be realistic–that stuff won’t be around forever. It’s not the end, but it’s the beginning of the end of all I’ve ever known. I can’t really envision what a Cammy with slow reflexes and sagging tits and butts would be like, but I’m not looking forward to it. So let me freak out and get drunk, all right. Maybe I’ll figure out what to do with myself for the rest of my life, do a caterpillar/butterfly thing. But it doesn’t seem likely. And meanwhile–I’m still ticking and could retire any time I want. So I should shut up and count my blessings, right? Okay, I will. Happy birthday to me.