In May of this year, when the in-laws visited, Papa told us he was 90. He celebrated his 80th in 2006. I was there.
This evening he informed the Forbearing Husband that next year he will be… 90. Is he confused? Are we confused? Has a recent viewing of the film Arrival led Papa to grapple with the space-time continuum? Or is it that once you get to 90 the clock stops? That would seem only fair.
Our very own Time Lord.
I’ve got a birthday next year too. I think I’ll make it my 30th. Anyone for cake?
Just in case you think we are delinquent in not knowing Papa’s date of birth, here is why: Papa was born in Samoa around the time of the Mau movement (Mau a Pule). His schooling was disrupted, I assume due to the ongoing civil unrest, and later he started using his younger brother’s birth certificate so that he could complete his education. Papa’s actual year of birth is now lost in the mists of time.
Don’t be so sure!!!
You see Chrissy B, it starts in small ways, where are the car keys, my spectacles, then what day it is, then I have lost the car/ wife/ the house…. progressing eventually to wearing gloves with a “L” and “R’ as an aid memoir, so to speak…..
E xxx
Do NOT lose the wife, you know jolly well if you do she’ll be off at the op shop buying another cute little jug! xxxx
I think that having reached the distinguished age of 90 a gentleman such as Papa should be able to choose his own birthdays 🙂
I think that’s Papa’s thesis. Good on him!
count me in for CHEESEcake.
You are always counted in, whatever the cake. x