33

published

I’m not generally into numerology, but I’ve been thinking a lot about the number 33 lately.

Carina took me to GameWorks at Easton, where we joined Lisa and Jeff for food, drinks, and games. We had a wonderful time. It was fun to play the games at our own pace, and not worry about collecting tickets to exchange for crappy toys, which is all the twins ever want to do at such establishments. Afterwards, dad treated Carina and me to the famous chocolate martinis at Club Diversity.

Carina gave me my birthday present last weekend: a fancy new grill. I haven’t had the opportunity to use it yet, which is mildly upsetting to me: I can’t wait to cook on it!

A long-running joke I make with Carina is that she’s catching up to me every time she has a birthday, and then I pull ahead again a few months later on my own birthday. She’s six years younger than me, so she’s got a few years to go before she even hits 30.

As I get older, birthdays become less and less important to me. I’m not the kind of person who resents (or fears) getting old, or yearns for lost youth. I don’t want to be a kid again; and I genuinely don’t mind getting older. It’s funny that as I care less and less about my own birthdays, I care more and more about the twins’ birthdays: they’re finally in the double digits, and in a few years they’ll officially be teenagers. Shortly after that they’ll start driving; and then will come college. Those are definitely birthdays I am anticipating!


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