Every seventh year one's birthday will be on a Sunday. If you happen to descend from a religious tradition where purchasing goods or services on Sunday is forbidden, and if the majority of your local friends and family also subscribe to this tradition, your birthday will be less fun on these every-seventh-year occasions. If you have a golden quilted jumpsuit onto whose dorsal side you sewed the words "Birthday Suit" that you particularly enjoy wearing in public on your birthday while surrounded by friends and family, Sunday birthdays will be even more disappointing. It's just not the same to wear such a treasure around the house.
This year, I have a Sunday birthday. I wore a skirt and blouse instead of my birthday suit and went to church instead of well-populated public places. I felt a little despondent.
During church, one of the other church ladies snagged me in the hall wielding my sodden-bottomed niece who had requested a diaper change. Her mom was teaching a lesson upstairs and dad was nowhere to be found, the church lady told me. Could I possibly?
Sure, lady. It'll just be the icing on my birthday cake. You got a diaper?
As we proceeded through the intricacies of diaper-removal and -replacement, Adri and I were chatting. "Need new diaper!" "Yes, punkin, you sure do. We'll get it fixed right away." "Fix it!" "Mmmm hmmm. We'll fix it."
And then, a pause...
And then, drawers dropped, bottom exposed, face all aglow...
"Happy birthday Amy???"
It was, far and away, the best birthday greeting I have ever rececived. From now on, if you want to wish me a Happy Birthday, please, first remove your pants.