It's high time, I believe.
“Happppy birrrrthdaaay to yooou!” They smile as they sing off-key and attempt to hit the high notes of the song we’ve heard every year, as the American traditions goes. I survey the flickering candles, making a mental note to try and blow out all the yellow pops of warm light all at once. I puff out my cheeks like a blowfish, and with the help of other kids at the party, manage to blow out every single candle at once.
“What’d ya wish for??” they prod, knowing that they won’t get a straight answer from me anyway. I smile to myself, assured by superstitions that my wish will indeed come true.
It’s more like a cheating wish, really. An umbrella wish, if that’s what you’d rather call it. I’ve sheepishly been hording it to myself all these years, all the way into the beginnings of my late 20’s, safeguarding it deep within myself, lest it suddenly disappear the way the storms do when they unpromisingly rumble, drop down the smallest specks of rain, and then suddenly dissipate into the translucent sky.
Would you like to know what I’ve wished for, every year since I was a child before I would blow the dancing candles atop the frosted cakes out? Well, don’t act so excited. You might be a bit crestfallen by the perhaps uneventful answer.
Isn’t that such a cheat? I know that already, but I just can’t help myself every year. I want more and more of it…or at least a continuation of it. Charlotte was so right in Sex in the City when asked by her three best friends how often she was happy with her life. “Every day,” she answered the girls, as they stared at her in disbelief. “Well, I’m not happy all day every day…but I’m happy every day,” she explained.
On the days when I’m so erratic with my balance of life (hormotional, as my friend called it [hormones plus emotional equals hormotional]), and lose it to the point where I frantically run into the bedroom, hurl myself into the sheets of the bed, squash my face into the pillows and scream, I still have to admit that I experienced happiness at least at some point during the day, whether it was the dog creeping into the sheets to give me a comforting lick on my forearm, a stranger smiling at me in line at the store, the sunshine peeking through the blinds, or the hugs and kisses I already forgot I had received that day.
Yes, I think my ploy has been working all these 26 years. And yes, I do realize it’s not because of some stupid superstitious wish for it to somehow reveal itself in my life. It really is something to search for within.
Even still, you can probably guess what I’ll be wishing for when I blow out the candles this year, won’t you?