In honor of today being both Mother’s Day and my 31st birthday, here’s a relevant slice of Bloom County:
My birthday falls on Mother’s Day every few years. In my lifetime, it’s happened in 1983, 1988, 1994, 2005 and 2011. In both 1988 (my golden birthday) and 1994, my family threw parties — but they were Mother’s Day parties where I got (and gave) presents, and the guests were family, not friends. Combine that with my brother getting presents on some of my earliest birthdays — and my never celebrating later birthdays on account of finals and/or conference track meets — and there’s hardly ever been a year when it was all about me. Thanks, Mom!
As a small child, I often envisioned what I would look like when I was older. Glasses were a must, because my grandfather wore them and I wanted to be him. I also figured I’d wear a suit and tie. Basically, I’d be Clark Kent in Superman III, played by Christopher Reeve, then 31.
|And I'd be striking this pose a lot.|
Well, at least I got the mild-mannered journalist part right. And the curl.
A few more random notes about my Pierson Prioleau birthday:
• Perk of being 31: No one cards you anymore, because that was three driver’s licenses ago. (Side note: All of my driver’s licenses have been horizontal. I was 22 when Louisiana unveiled the vertical one for minors. Yep, 9/11 changed everything. Poor kids.)
• Six years ago, I dated a 31-year-old woman. I used to brag about it. Next time it happens, I’ll be bragging for the opposite reason.
• College girls often tell me I look 25. Which means I’m still too old for them, but slightly less so.
• I am now the age my mom was on Nov. 6, 1984. I remember Nov. 6, 1984.
• I’m older than many of my sports heroes (but not Pierson Prioleau).
• My “baby” sister is 21. Old baby.
• People call me “young whippersnapper,” but ironically now.
Just as I began this blog with a timely image, I shall end it the same way: