I am born again.
Last night, I headed up to the city for a dinner date with ma chere brim at La Provence. We were quickly ushered to a two-top near the windows by the proprieter. I can be a little weird (shock of shocks!) about having my back to an open room, so I asked B if I could sit on the banquette against the wall.
The jovial owner said that they only allowed birthday girls to sit on the inside. B and I responded, just as jokingly, that we were willing to pretend it was our birthday. And that's where the joke grew legs, hopped up on the table, and did the can-can. The couple two tables down from us must have heard some part of the exchange, because they wished me a happy birthday as they left. Our waitress wished me a happy birthday, and brought me dessert with a lit candle in it. (I didn't feel that special: B's beef stew came festooned with a smoldering oregano tree.)
The food was phenomenal, the service very French (i.e. they left us the hell alone.) In the era of "forhereortogo," it's nice to have the time to chat, savor, and digest. The music was tongue-in-cheek ironic: the theme from Le Fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain, "Ne me quitte pas" - Nina Simone (I love me some Nina Simone), and one of my current favorites "J'ai deux amours" - Madeleine Peyroux. Loved the soundtrack, but I don't want to hear it three times in a row! The waitress sent me off with even more birthday wishes.
B and I decided that, since everyone seemed in the mood for it, that yesterday was a birthday for me. Maybe my rebirth as a San Franciscan (??) I've always wanted to have a non-winter birthday, and fall is my favorite season, so this works well.
I plan to celebrate it every year.