The 31st Traverse of the Sun

It's my birthday. When you're a little girl your birthday turns into a fairy tale world. You imagine yourself surrounded by little tinkerbells and you wander on a flower garden with your white castle looming not far behind.

They all disappear as you grow old. The world becomes gloomy and your tinkerbells fritter away six feet under your memory box. Every beauty in the world disappear with every passing of a childhood.

And life is one big bowl of rotten cherries.

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Garfield: At my age, birthdays don't creep anymore. They just burst through the door and march right in.