Twenty-two going on sixteen
I've waited so long for this birthday to come, that I now feel as if I don't even know how old I am. Am I turning 22 today? Have I been 22 all year, and did not know it? Will 2010 be my twenty-second year of life? Math was never really my strong point...
I like my birthday, as in I like to wake up on the day I was born; for one, it feels like my personal New Year's (which, being less than a month away, probably influenced me) and it also gives me the perfect conversation starter ('You know, today is my birthday!'). It's the only day of the year I get asked my age, any other time people just assume it - and get it wrong most of the time ('In your twenties? Really? You look around sixteen!'). Since, contrary to popular belief, I do not find it flattering to be seen as a teenager, I'll be proud to answer with a loud '22' whenever I get asked how old I am, today.
The numbers I like too. Six and twelve, I mean. It sounds right, it sounds fitting and, as I'm fond of pointing out, one is the other's multiple. This year, twenty-two sounds even right-er (is that even a word?); it's nice and clean, there are no sharp edges - last year, I had some issues with 21 - and funnily enough it's an age that nobody guesses. They all go for 23 or 21, but always skip 22.
After this rant I'd better get to bed, but I'm leaving with a small, terribly teasing excerpt from the next chapter of Holy Devil. I hope that someone, some of the wonderful readers out there will enjoy it and look forward to pore over the whole thing. It's nearly finished, by the way.
"I should brush up on my Shakespeare," Hermione said, pulling Blaise onto her bed with her.
"What?" he asked puzzled, busy as he had been twirling his fingers with his girlfriend’s.
"Shakespeare," she repeated. "Brilliant dramatist, mid-sixteenth century, The Globe Theatre..."
Blaise didn’t look pleased with her patronizing tone.
"I meant, what does he have to do with anything?"
"Well, maybe you missed it in my sea of notes," she replied, "but I stressed how his Romeo and Juliet conjures up the perfect scenario in which your..." she paused for emphasis, "mmm... clever plan... could go wrong."
"Must we argue, again?" he said. "Can’t you just sum your notes up for me and get to the point where you tell me how Shakespeare’s most famous love-story relates to us?"
I like my birthday, as in I like to wake up on the day I was born; for one, it feels like my personal New Year's (which, being less than a month away, probably influenced me) and it also gives me the perfect conversation starter ('You know, today is my birthday!'). It's the only day of the year I get asked my age, any other time people just assume it - and get it wrong most of the time ('In your twenties? Really? You look around sixteen!'). Since, contrary to popular belief, I do not find it flattering to be seen as a teenager, I'll be proud to answer with a loud '22' whenever I get asked how old I am, today.
The numbers I like too. Six and twelve, I mean. It sounds right, it sounds fitting and, as I'm fond of pointing out, one is the other's multiple. This year, twenty-two sounds even right-er (is that even a word?); it's nice and clean, there are no sharp edges - last year, I had some issues with 21 - and funnily enough it's an age that nobody guesses. They all go for 23 or 21, but always skip 22.
After this rant I'd better get to bed, but I'm leaving with a small, terribly teasing excerpt from the next chapter of Holy Devil. I hope that someone, some of the wonderful readers out there will enjoy it and look forward to pore over the whole thing. It's nearly finished, by the way.
"I should brush up on my Shakespeare," Hermione said, pulling Blaise onto her bed with her.
"What?" he asked puzzled, busy as he had been twirling his fingers with his girlfriend’s.
"Shakespeare," she repeated. "Brilliant dramatist, mid-sixteenth century, The Globe Theatre..."
Blaise didn’t look pleased with her patronizing tone.
"I meant, what does he have to do with anything?"
"Well, maybe you missed it in my sea of notes," she replied, "but I stressed how his Romeo and Juliet conjures up the perfect scenario in which your..." she paused for emphasis, "mmm... clever plan... could go wrong."
"Must we argue, again?" he said. "Can’t you just sum your notes up for me and get to the point where you tell me how Shakespeare’s most famous love-story relates to us?"