Thursday, March 17, 2005

Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear me, happy birthday to me.

Okay, now we have the self-pitying getting old 'When Harry Met Sally' wail of "I'm gonna be forty!" out of the way, get a load of this. Flowers delivered to my door. with a bow and everything. From the sneaky rat bastard who asked me which flowers he should get for his girlfriend. I mean fiancée!

Hey, get me. I sound like the Other Woman. Nothing so interesting - it's only Patrick. Nevertheless, why do I sense that Gemma may start disliking me the way other girlfriend have done?

In other news, a lovely fat wadge of cash from the 'rents. Tried to resist the urge to riffle through it like Sophie Ellis Bextor. Failed. Money smells goood.

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