Happy 33rd to Me

Surely there’s some magic in the age of 33. What number could be more potent? Not just one lucky three, but two! A perfect (if rounded to the nearest whole number) third of a century. Plus, you all know what 3 x 3 equals, and you all know what that means. Ah yes, the mystic number nine. Google it if you’re confused.

So. Here I am. 33. Feels a lot like 32.

Plans for the day include the farmer’s market, playing in the garden, and dinner at a Tunisian restaurant.

For some years running I have devoted days prior my birthday to preparing a ridiculously lavish feast of Moroccan food for my dearest friends. It’s a great tradition. Other folks tend to think it’s weird to spend days cooking my own birthday dinner, without any help (people offer, I refuse). But the truth is, I would consider it too decadent to spend that much money and time on a single meal any other day of the year. I love the opportunity to totally geek out on food for a few days and cook things completely outside of the everyday-dinner routine. And I love the excessive praise from my friends, who end up strewn about the floor in a blissed-out food coma afterwards.

But here, all our friends have kids. My birthday dinner was a grown-up event that fit one toddler in just fine, but would not remotely go with a pack of ’em. Plus here there is the option of going out to a fantastic ethnic restaurant, which our Cordova home didn’t have.

So, that’s the plan. With, as I mentioned, some mud-pie-play first. A perfect day for me.