HELLO, reader. Today is a gift. That is why they call it the present.
This is emblazoned on a sticker my mother sends me the day before my birthday. In fairness, her and papa manage to cough up for a card, too, which has a pink bear wearing high-heels on the front.
The card says: ‘Wishing our lovely Mairead the best birthday.
We love you lots and lots and lots and lots, xxxxxxx, Mam and Dad.’ Slyly written in the corner of the card is ‘You can collect your present in Cork’ … they know that’s all it will take to get me home.
The card actually arrived yesterday, the day before my birthday. I tell myself I will keep it on my desk to cheer me up for when my actual birthday arrives.
Why Mairead? I hear you all ask. Why would you need cheering up on your birthday when it has always been the most glorious day of the year? Well, dear reader, because at some point over the past weekend I took leave of my senses and promised to give up smoking.
WHY DID I PROMISE TO GIVE UP SMOKING ON MY BIRTHDAY? WHY?
This is the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever had.
Like, I am not one of these people who hates smoking. I love smoking. I love it. I really love it with all my heart. But now, following a moment of utter madness, I’ve given in to giving up. Oh, Christ, the seconds are passing by so slowing. Tick tock, tick tock goes the clock.
The idea first came to me during the Ballycotton 10, when I effectively could not breathe. Hmm, I thought to myself, could this have anything to do with smoking? Perhaps I should give up.
The decision was then cemented just a few days ago after a weekend of excess whereby I managed to contract a brutal hacking cough. Hmm, I thought again to myself, this really might have something to do with smoking. Perhaps I should give up.
I attempted to suppress the bizarre urge to quit for a few days, but when I wandered into a chemist with two things in mind – those being an investment in cough medicine and some vitamin C (even though I resent the vitamin industry as a whole) – a wild seizure took hold of my body and, before I knew it, I had told the lady behind the counter I wanted to give up smoking.
Suddenly, I had attracted an audience. The entire chemist’s was getting involved in my quest to quit.
That’s a lie, actually; it was just me, the nice lady behind the counter and some random but very eager-to-help woman, who gave me the impression she really wanted to work in the service industry such was her penchant for doling out the advice.
I think she was slightly irate that I opted to go for the chewing gum instead the faux smoking device she was advocating. I announced my decision to the world, but it met with a most dubious reaction.
Essentially, people don’t believe me. And actually, I don’t believe me either because I’m currently sitting here with the skin on my back prickling and a decidedly aggressive tone in my voice each time I am forced into conversation with someone.
I must try to look on the positive side of things really because, if I succeed, I will save myself an enormous sum of money and I will be able to breathe, which is apparently of some benefit to us humans.
Whatever …