It's my birthday ...
But, if I'm honest, the receiving of a gift causes anxiety rather than the joy of anticipation: What lies behind the wrapping paper; "is it ugly, is it beautiful ... has it breasts, has it edges?" More to the point, can I return it without the receipt or bin it without the giver ever knowing?
Unlike Sylvia Plath, I'm never so sure of the uniqueness of the object I'm being handed; uncertain that it'll be just what I always wanted. And unlike Sylvia, I would kind of like something special this year; I'll be pretty pissed off if I'm presented with some old bones, "or a pearl button".
But how to ensure one receives the perfect present?
The answer, of course, is to buy it yourself. That way, you always get exactly what you want from the person whom you love most ... In my case, a black woollen multi-wasp jumper from Child of the Jago, complete with an embroidered armband and a golden kilt pin to attach it to the sleeve.
The answer, of course, is to buy it yourself. That way, you always get exactly what you want from the person whom you love most ... In my case, a black woollen multi-wasp jumper from Child of the Jago, complete with an embroidered armband and a golden kilt pin to attach it to the sleeve.
Happy Birthday - to me!
See: Sylvia Plath, 'A Birthday Present', Ariel, (Faber and Faber, 2010), pp. 42-44. Those who are interested can listen to Sylvia reading this verse on YouTube by clicking here.
